those nighttime escapades
by Lazuli Quetzal
Summary: Would Tim and Damian have gotten along if they met under different circumstances? Probably not. (Civilian!Tim AU, sort of, and some photography shenanigans. Written as a series of oneshots in the same universe.)
1. Origin

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Batman, or Red Robin, or DC comics, or any ideas concepts or characters mentioned in this story! I am a sixteen-year-old girl playing with fanfiction!**

**A/N: YES, I had another birthday! And yes - I have this awful inability to stick to one fandom. Or story. But you know what, I don't really care anymore.**

* * *

_Would Tim and Damian have gotten along if they met under different circumstances?_

_Probably not._

* * *

Caroline Pham warily eyed the teenager sitting across from her on the subway. He was one of those troublemaker kids – she could feel it. He lounged about, fiddling with some buttons on his camera, casually sliding a skateboard across the floor.

_Thump. Thump._

Her left eye twitched. One of the wheels had a dent in in, causing a repetitive sound reminiscent of a broken shopping cart. The teenager, of course, did not care about the discomfort he caused. Instead, he sat there, oblivious to all else but whatever was on his camera.

Caroline frowned disapprovingly. His jeans were torn at both knees; his black hoodie dirty and riddled with holes. He had a backpack, too, in considerably better shape than his clothing, which was in itself suspicious. She couldn't see his hair or face, since his hood was up, but she was willing to bet that it was in one of those ridiculous hairstyles the younger generation found so fascinating.

When he finally got off of the subway, she relaxed. The noise was gone, along with that rowdy child. Now she could could breath easier.

* * *

The aforementioned teenager laughed to himself as he hopped off the subway. Based on the expression the elderly woman had on her face, she probably thought he was a troublemaking hooligan.

Though to be fair, she wasn't exactly far from the truth.

He exited Gotham Underground and hopped on his skateboard. It wasn't long before he was cruising through one of the dirtier neighborhoods of Gotham. With his old hoodie and worn jeans, he blended right in, even if it was a little unusual for someone to be skating at this time of night.

He turned a sharp corner and hopped off his board. As quietly as possible, he hid the skateboard in a dumpster and glanced at the alleyway before him. If his hunch was right, there would be a high-profile drug deal going on in the warehouse about two blocks away. And this particular apartment building had the second-best view of the inside of the warehouse – second best, because if he went to the best view it was likely someone else would be there, too.

Hoping that no one would steal his skateboard, he began to scale the wall.

Mentally, he ran through his current inventory. Camera, check. Night lenses, check. Tripod, check. Water bottle, binoculars, pepper spray, and switchblade, check.

He'd never really had to use the pepper spray or the switchblade before, but they were always on him. He'd seen enough crime to know that muggers tended to avoid armed prey.

The rooftop was clear, like he knew it would be. His hands began to follow the nightly routine. Set up the camera, adjust the angles, tweak the settings, and wait. He peered through the binoculars and into the warehouse. There were some figures already inside, but nothing started yet. He sipped some water from his bottle and waited.

Time passed. The water bottle was empty, and his eyes were starting to droop. Tonight would be the second night in a row he was out. Yesterday, he'd been gathering information on these guys.

He was almost ready to go home when the activity inside the warehouse increased.

"Got you," he whispered, and smirked. His hand was already on the shutter button.

Quickly, he began to shoot pictures. One of the drug dealers had his back to him, so he couldn't get a good shot of his face, but the other one was practically posing for a portrait. The teenager resisted the urge to cackle as he got a shot of him tasting some of the merchandise. Finally, when the exchange was over, he packed his camera equipment into his backpack and zipped it up. Quietly, he returned to the alley. On his way out, he grabbed his skateboard from its hiding spot.

_Timothy Drake has struck again._

One week later, Art Kendall was arrested for drug abuse. No one knew where the incriminating photographs came from.

* * *

"All-nighter _again?_"

"Yep," Tim flashed a tired grin as he slid into the seat next to Stephanie Brown.

"I'm beginning to think that you never sleep," she muttered. "Like, ever."

"Sleep is for the weak," Tim answered as he took a sip from his thermos. Caffeine, sweet caffeine. It was second in his list his most treasured items: the first being his camera. He couldn't quite remember how he functioned before coffee.

Steph chuckled and leaned back in her chair. The bell rang, and their conversation was over. With a resigned look, they turned their attention to the teacher.

Tim was well aware of Stephanie Brown's _other_ life. Batgirl was out every other night, beating up bad guys and stopping crime. Before that – Robin, the Girl Wonder, flying across the rooftops with Batman.

But just because Tim knew didn't mean that _Steph_ knew that he knew. Often he thought about telling her, but he could never quite muster up the courage.

It would be weird, he told himself. They never really talked outside of first period: AP Chemistry. They had an amicable acquaintance, sure, but not exactly a friendship. Their relationship was composed of mutual complaints about their class and a few shared interests.

What would he even say, anyway? _Hey, I've been following Batman and Robin around since I was nine, and I know the secret identities of you and several other members of your vigilante group! And I take pictures of you guys sometimes! Not a stalker, I swear!_

Steph caught him staring at her, and she lifted an eyebrow. Tim shrugged and turned back to his Chemistry work.

It always got super awkward around Stephanie Brown. Steph was cool – infinitely cooler than he was. Honestly, the thought that he sat next to _Batgirl_ made him "geek out", as some people liked to put it. He wondered what Steph thought of him. She probably thought he was just 'that one weird kid in Chemistry'. Tim often wanted to talk to her, but... it was just too weird. But he still wanted to be her friend.

He'd always thought the heroes of Gotham needed civilian friends to keep them grounded, the way Batman needed a Robin.

The way Batman needed a Robin three years ago.

He could remember it quite clearly. The death of Jason Todd sent Batman into a raging depression, and thirteen-year-old Timothy Drake wanted to help his hero _so badly_. So badly that he spent days trying to track down Nightwing.

But not so badly that he talked to him. He stood two feet away from Dick Grayson and _froze._ He couldn't speak. He spent hours preparing a speech, complete with newspaper clippings and photographs as evidence to convince Dick Grayson to return to being Robin. And then he _froze._

He'd left the circus without saying a word to Grayson, feeling cowardly and ashamed.

A week later, he'd ran into a purple-hooded girl who called herself the Spoiler. She wasn't as good as Robin, but she definitely had the drive and the determination, and Tim knew exactly what he had to do. It became a game of trying to get the two vigilantes to run into each other without them realizing it was on purpose.

It ended up with Steph as Robin and Tim coming home to an empty mansion, with a camera in his lap and a weary but triumphant look in his eye.

He'd followed them around for a while, to keep an eye on things. Eventually he outgrew his obsessive tendencies. Sure, he occasionally trailed Batman and Robin, but it didn't give him the same thrill it used to when he was ten years old and fascinated with capes. Instead, Tim started focusing on the smaller, more subtle crimes that often slipped under the Dynamic Duo's radar. It was all a game to him – taking the pieces of evidence, putting them together until he had the whole story caught on a camera, and slipping a labeled SD card into the police station without getting caught.

He only really followed Batman when he was feeling nostalgic, or when they were working a particularly interesting case.

Or when something changed.

* * *

Tim waited on the roof, a pair of binoculars in his hands. He'd heard rumors of the return of Robin, and his old obsession came back with a raging passion. There was something comforting about climbing up buildings in the middle of the night, to watch your childhood heroes in action.

Batman used pretty much the same patrol patterns for the past 8 years, so it wasn't hard to climb up to the Gotham Clock Tower and wait.

He wondered who the new kid was.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and Tim squinted through his binoculars. There – Batman, swooping through the night. He shifted his view and smirked when he caught a flash of a yellow cape.

Huh. The new kid was _young._ He apparently changed the costume a bit, too. He'd added sleeves and lace-up combat boots, and wore black leggings instead of green. And he had a hood, too. But the costume was clearly Robin, and Tim could appreciate the evolution of the costume. It was better than Dick Grayson's 'disco Nightwing' phase, that's for sure.

It wasn't hard for Tim to put the pieces together. Bruce Wayne's biological son pops out of nowhere, Robin returns a few short weeks later. Tim did wonder who the mother was, though. This Robin was clearly trained. Batman wouldn't have let him patrol so soon otherwise. But Tim was sure where he trained – definitely not under Batman. He was too aggressive, too _angry..._

Tim wondered if this was a good match. If this violent child could keep Batman in check. Maybe. He'd wait and see.

"Damian Wayne," he muttered under his breath. "Nice to meet you."

* * *

It surprised Tim when his and Batman's cases crossed. Tim chose tiny, relatively low-risk crimes to follow. Mostly they were thefts, but Tim did handle a kidnapping once.

But it seemed, skilled as Damian Wayne was, Batman wanted to start small. And that led to this.

Tim was torn between excitement and frustration. He'd spent weeks working out this museum theft. He'd trailed the guy, took notes – he had half a memory stick devoted to pictures on this particular case. And then, the night of the theft, Batman and Robin decided to bust in, effectively rendering his work useless.

Still, he watched from his hiding spot on the roof. The museum had interesting architecture, and the lights made it look cool at night. Deciding not to waste the opportunity, he started snapping photos for his photography class. Often his instructor would lift an eyebrow at the rather... creative angles Tim managed to get, but she never said anything.

He wondered if she knew what his nighttime activities consisted of.

Tim paused in his shooting when a window suddenly blew out on the third floor of the museum. Out came the figure of the thief, followed by a flash of yellow – Robin was on his tail.

Tim grinned and aimed his camera. The easiest route away from the museum was across the roof of the library right next to the museum, and Tim had the perfect view. His first few pictures of the new Robin were going to be _perfect. _He switched the camera to burst shooting and waited.

But then. This happened.

It was with rapidly growing alarm that Tim realized he'd _overestimated_ this particular crook's intelligence. Tim always hid in the second-best hiding places – second best, because everyone else took the first best places and never thought to look for him there. And then there was this guy.

Who didn't take the most efficient escape route and was headed _straight towards Tim_, with the new Robin on his tail.

Tim cursed under his breath and tossed his tripod and binoculars in his backpack. Quickly, he gathered up his stuff, camera still in hand, and ducked behind the rooftop planter. If he was lucky, neither the criminal nor Robin would notice him as they ran past the roof.

He wasn't lucky.

The crook tripped over the edge of the rooftop, sprawled out only feet away from Tim and his rapidly pounding heart. The man got to his feet, and -

And suddenly time slowed down. Crouched behind the planter, Tim's eyes swept over the scene. It was _beautiful._ The half moon illuminated the rooftop with an ethereal silver glow. The thief had a distinctive profile, his dark silhouette standing strong against the deep blue of the night sky. And descending from the clouds came the new Robin, his domino mask just barely visible underneath his hood, cape billowing out behind him, and a batarang in his hand.

Without thinking, Tim raised his camera and shot.

The burst shooting setting captured the new Robin in all his glory, combat boots planting themselves into the thief's face, landing on the rooftop with practiced ease.

Tim thought he might pass out. He'd never been this close to a Robin in costume before. The thief was swiftly knocked out, and Tim could only think of his photograph – that perfect lighting, that killer composition, the angle, and – _oh shit, is he looking at me?!_

The ten year old vigilante stood over the unconscious body and glared in Tim's direction.

"Who are _you?_"

"Crap," Tim muttered, and Robin stepped forward.

Not even thinking about what he was doing, Tim turned and leaped off the building, clumsily landing in the dumpster where he'd hidden his skateboard.

Breathing hard, and ignoring the pain in his ankle, he scrambled out of the trash. He'd have to get his precious skateboard later.

His heart hammered in his chest as he sprinted out of the alley. All he could think of was _oh man what if he gets me what am I supposed to say how do I even begin to explain this -_

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Tim pushed himself even harder. As he ran, he fumbled with his camera and removed the SD card. He slipped it into his pocket, just in case he had to abandon his camera during the chase. Cameras could be replaced. But that photo was priceless.

Was his hood still on? Panicked, he reached up – yes, it was on. Hopefully Robin didn't get a good look at his face. Though it might not matter. Bruce Wayne definitely had the resources to deduce who he was, especially if the Oracle was helping...

Something whistled through the air, and suddenly there was a batarang sticking out of Tim's left shoulder.

_Let's hope no one finds out about that,_ Tim thought as he continued running. He had no doubt that his shoulder would be in great pain for the next few days, but right now the adrenaline pumping through his veins was enough to bring the dead back to life.

Damian – Robin – was fast, faster than Tim, but Tim had the advantage of a split second head start and an intimate knowledge of Gotham's streets. After all, he'd been sneaking through here since he was nine years old.

He turned a corner, shortcutting through an alley leading to one of the busier streets of Gotham. It may have been 12:38 am, but cities like Gotham don't sleep. The nighttime crowd was thin, but it was enough. Tim slipped through the crowd like butter; he had plenty of experience running through groups of people. And Robin, as athletic as he was, had the disadvantage of being shorter than everyone else. Tim knew the boy was still on his heels, though, so he pulled out his wad of emergency cash and dropped it onto the ground. The effect was immediate – passerby crowded the fallen money, and the gap between Tim and Damian was widened from three feet to ten.

Tim ducked into another alley. This particular one had a broken manhole cover that hadn't been fixed for at least five years. Tim skipped over the hole in the ground. Behind him, he heard the sound of someone hitting the ground, followed by a ten year old cursing. He didn't look back.

But now he was getting tired. Tim took another turn and scrambled through the broken window he knew would be there. This was not the first time he sought sanctuary in this abandoned apartment room. He barely managed to duck his head out of sight when Robin's footsteps caught up. Tim held his breath and curled up into a ball under the window, praying that Damian wouldn't look inside.

"Robin to Batman. I've lost the unknown."

Tim relaxed, but did not breathe.

"I – yes. Fine. I'm on my way."

The sound of a rustling cape. Faint footsteps. Tim counted to twenty, and finally he deemed it safe enough to breathe.

He'd just outrun Damian Wayne. Damian Wayne, the fourth Robin. Damian Wayne, the _son of Batman._

Suddenly, Tim remembered his photo. He grabbed his camera and winced at the pain in his shoulder. He reached up to touch his wound. It was bleeding. Nothing that couldn't be fixed, so he tried not to worry about it.

Still thinking of his photograph, Tim patted his pocket. The SD card was sitting safely inside. He sighed in relief. That single photo was probably his greatest achievement in all his vigilante stalking career.

Tim pulled off his old hoodie and his shirt and rummaged through his backpack. He pulled out a bandage and slapped it on. He'd have to do a more proper job of wrapping it up, but he'd save that for when he got home. He pulled his clothes back on and got to his feet. It was 12:42 am. If he wanted to catch a decent amount sleep, he'd have to head home now...

Tim's head snapped up, the implications of his wound suddenly becoming clear.

He was bleeding. The batarang fell out. Logically, his blood would be on the batarang. If Batman or Robin went back to find it...

Oh God.

He put his head in his hands. It seemed like he wasn't going to get much sleep tonight.

* * *

With Simon la Rue tied up and deposited at the police station, Damian could now focus on the other chase of the night.

That photographer.

Batman and Robin flew across the rooftops, speaking about the mystery person who'd managed to outrun Damian.

"Here," Robin said, as they landed on the rooftop where he knocked out la Rue. "They were hiding behind this planter."

"Oracle, check the security cameras on all the streets within a 3-mile radius," Batman spoke into his comm as he knelt down by the planter.

"On it."

Batman frowned at the crushed plants. There was nothing, no trace of this photographer.

"You say they jumped off?"

"Into that dumpster down there," Robin commented. "It was a bad landing – they were limping while I chased them, but they ran it off."

"Not trained in falls, then."

"Trained enough to scale the walls of this building," Robin pointed out. "There's no fire escapes or ladders. I checked."

"Curious," Bruce commented. He nodded to Robin, and together they swooped down to the dumpster below.

There were crushed bags from the landing. Batman studied the contents of the dumpster. Old bottles, various trash items, some food products in various states of decay, and -

"A skateboard?" Robin tugged the object out. Unlike the rest of the dumpster, it was clean. It was too clean to have been there for long.

"It's functional," Robin commented, rolling it along the ground. "There's a dent in the wheel, though."

"Must be how they got here," Batman said. "They probably left it behind in their haste."

"Nothing else, though," Robin frowned.

"I've got a visual of the chase," Oracle said through the comm. "12:39 am. They were running through 8th."

"Yes," Robin said. "I would've gotten them if the people weren't there."

"Ooh, clever," Oracle commented. She was watching the security feed. "Dropped some cash to cause a jam for Robin. Not bad."

"Hmm," Batman mused. He grabbed the skateboard. "We'll have to take this back and look for prints. Maybe we can identify them from it."

"Doubtful," Oracle sang through the comm. "Skateboards get roughed around a lot, any prints would be smudged past the point of useful. But..."

"But what?"

"Apparently Robin hit them with a batarang, and it drew blood."

Batman threw a sharp look towards his son. Robin shrugged.

"It disappears in between these two cameras," Oracle muttered. "You'll probably find it somewhere along that alley off of 8th leading to Darwin."

Robin was already on his feet. Batman quickly followed, the skateboard still in his arms.

Batman thought about this mystery photographer. Perhaps they were just a person at the wrong place at the wrong time. But otherwise, they wouldn't have run.

Whatever it was, Batman was going to get to the bottom of it. He wasn't called the Great Detective for nothing.

* * *

When they arrived at the alley, they were surprised to see a pair of legs sticking out of a hole in the ground. Batman held up a hand, stopping Robin from moving ahead. They watched the legs wriggle around. Whoever the person was, they were looking for something.

"Is this the person you were following?" Batman asked, quietly.

Robin nodded.

"Probably realized the batarang fell out," Batman said. He shot Robin a look of disapproval.

"I didn't aim for anything lethal."

"'Course you didn't," Oracle chirped in their ears. "You see the weapon anywhere?"

"We have a visual on the unknown," Batman answered.

Robin's muscles tensed. "I'm going in to confront them."

"Robin, _wait -_"

It was too late. Batman sighed as his son dropped into the alley.

The sound of boots hitting the pavement obviously startled the person in the manhole. The person yelped, and there was the sound of metal hitting metal, and finally, they pulled their head out of the hole in the ground. Batman observed dark hair and pale skin. A young man, more of a boy, really. Older than Damian, but younger than Jason. He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting.

Batman followed his son down to the street, effectively trapping the photographer in the center of the alley.

The photographer glanced at Robin, and then to Batman. Then – to Batman's surprise – he groaned. His hand went to his face.

"Oh my God, this is so embarrassing," he muttered. Batman glanced at his hands. One hand was covered in grime, but it also held a red batarang.

"Who the hell are you?" Robin asked. Blunt and to the point. Batman made a mental note to teach his son about interrogation. Batman could get away with angry grunts, but Robin? Not so much.

"Hi, Robin," the photographer turned to Robin. His tone seemed that of forced light-heartedness. "Uh, how's it going?"

"You were following me," Robin growled. "Why?"

The photographer took on a defensive tone. "I wasn't following you! I was following -" he cut himself off.

Batman's eyes narrowed behind his cowl. "Were you following _me?_"

The photographer whirled around to face him, and Batman got a clear view of his face. He looked familiar, although his face was smudged with dirt and grime from sticking his head into the sewers. What took Batman off guard was the bright blue eyes.

"Oh my God," Oracle murmured in his ear, taking in the live feed from the camera in his mask. "Black hair, blue eyes. Not another one."

Batman was going to have words with Oracle.

"I wasn't following you, either!" The boy protested, his face flushing pink. "I, um – I was uh, following the thief."

Batman growled. "As his accomplice?"

"No!" The photographer looked almost offended. "I'm an upstanding citizen!" he paused, looking thoughtful. "Uh, I think?"

"You think?" Robin growled, and he stepped closer. "You're either following the law or not. Make up your mind."

The boy leaned away from Robin, his hands fidgeting with the batarang. "Well, technically vigilantes are illegal so you guys are breaking the law except the Commissioner needs you guys because Gotham's one of the most crime ridden places on the planet and since Batman came around crime dropped by like fifteen per-"

"Are you saying you're playing at being a vigilante?" Batman cut off the nervous ramble. Oracle was laughing in his ear. Batman resisted the urge to turn off the comm.

"...No?" The boy himself looked uncertain.

"Tt. You're coming with us."

The boy looked even more embarrassed, if that was possible. "Oh my God," he muttered, his eyes darting around the alley, but more out of shame than of looking for exits. "Eight years and it's finally bitten me in the ass. I should've never watched the news that night."

Batman frowned. "Care to explain?"

The boy bit his lip. "I, uh, I think this conversation should be held somewhere more private."

Robin lifted an eyebrow. Batman never understood how his Robins were so expressive underneath a domino mask.

The boy wrung his hands through his hair. "It's kinda a long story. And it kinda involves certain billionaires and acrobats and street kids and -" He paused, searching for words. "A ten year old probably assassin child?"

There was silence.

"Well, he's not wrong," Oracle piped up in the earpiece.

"How did you come by this information?" Batman growled.

The boy hid his face in his hands. "I'm so dead."

* * *

They entered the Cave in silence. Tim – he'd introduced himself on the way over – walked in, a look of awe on his face. His eyes darted around the room, taking in all the information with a slight smile on his face. Damian, by contrast, was sulking and glaring at the boy with suspicion.

"Wow," Tim breathed out. He turned to Batman. "This place is cooler than I imagined!"

"How much do you know?" Batman asked, moving straight to the point. There was a time and place for fancy interrogation techniques. This was not one of them.

Tim turned red and bit his lip. "...A lot. Hi, Mr. Wayne. This was not how I imagined meeting you."

Batman crossed his arms.

Tim turned to the other occupant in the room. "I also know that you're Damian Wayne."

Damian scowled. His hand twitched toward a weapon, but he didn't draw. Bruce silently congratulated his son on self-control; much better than last week.

"I, uh -" Tim waved his hands through the air, trying to articulate. "I've known. For a while." Tim blushed again. "A pretty long while."

"How long?"

"Eight years," he mumbled. "Well, not Damian, since he wasn't around yet, but – yeah."

Laughter sounded through the speakers on the computer. Tim jumped.

Without warning, the computer monitor whirred to life, and the smiling face of the Oracle appeared.

"Oh my God, Bruce. A _nine year old _figured it out."

Tim, true to his character, was staring at the screen with wide eyes.

"Hi. I'm the Oracle," Oracle said. She adjusted her glasses.

"Holy _shit,_" Tim said. "You're – you're the first Batgirl! Barbara Gordon!"

Bruce took off his cowl. Clearly it was pointless. With a sigh, he plopped down into a chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering how such a large security breach occurred without him knowing.

"Not bad, Timothy Drake," Oracle grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Nice to meet you."

Tim didn't even question her knowing his name. He just stared at Oracle with wide eyes. Babs smirked. Her eyes flicked toward Bruce, then back to Tim. Bruce was immediately on guard. She was up to something, and he wasn't sure what.

"Did you tell anyone?" Bruce asked, a weary note in his voice.

Tim looked offended. "No!"

"Why?" Bruce asked, genuinely curious.

Tim shrugged. "Wasn't my secret to tell."

Damian frowned. "That was your only reason?"

"Yeah," Tim said, looking honestly bewildered. "What other reason would I need?" Babs was smiling so hard it looked like her face was going to fall off.

"So, Timmy," she said. "How did you uncover the identity of Batman at the age of nine?"

"It wasn't hard," Tim shrugged. Then he backtracked, looking panicked. "I mean, it was totally hard, you hide your identity very very well -"

"Just answer the question, Drake," Damian snapped.

Last name address already, huh? Damian must be warming up to him.

"I was, uh, a fan of Dick Grayson's civilian identity," Tim said. "As an acrobat. I met him at the circus the night – uh, that night – and it kinda. Stuck. I met him before the show; he promised to do his signature quadruple somersault for me. Little kid fan stuff.

"Then you adopted him," Tim continued. "And then, somewhere around that time, a video clip of Robin appeared on the news. It showed him doing a quadruple somersault. The list of people who can do that is three people long, and only one of them was a kid in Gotham, which meant Dick Grayson was Robin. And Bruce Wayne was Batman."

"I see," Bruce said slowly.

"Clever," Barbara commented. "Who else do you know?"

Tim thought for a moment. "Dick Grayson's currently Nightwing, there's you guys, Stephanie Brown is Batgirl at the moment – pretty sure the one before her was Cassandra Cain, but not certain – and," he paused and frowned. "All signs point to the Red Hood being Jason Todd, except I'm pretty sure he's dead."

Bruce suppressed a wince. "Is that it?"

"Clark Kent is Superman," Tim shrugged. "Although, he doesn't try too hard to hide it. Glasses? Really?"

Bruce silently agreed. How Superman's identity stayed secret, he would never know.

"So why were you following the thief?" Damian changed the subject.

"It's a thing I do," Tim said nonchalantly. "I get photographic evidence on criminals and leave anonymous tips at the police station."

Babs grinned. "You're _that_ guy," she said. "My dad just assumes that one of us Bats did it."

"Oh." Tim said.

There was a pause.

"You've been trailing criminals since you were nine?" Damian asked, after the silence.

Tim's eyes widened. "No! I was -" he stopped. And blushed. Again. "I, uh, I only started this whole thing, like, three years ago."

"And before that?" Damian asked.

Tim looked nervous. "... I followed Batman and Robin to get pictures for my scrapbook," he mumbled.

Babs looked as though Christmas had come early. Bruce resolved to have a talk to her sooner, rather than later.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Damian spoke slowly. "Since you were nine, you would sneak out at night with nothing but a camera to take pictures of Batman and Robin. And _no one noticed._"

Tim smiled sheepishly. "Yes?"

Damian growled. "You moronic _idiot -_"

In a heartbeat, Bruce was by his son's side, his hand resting on his shoulder. Damian relaxed, but only slightly. Once he was sure Damian would not fly out of control, Bruce turned a disapproving eye to Tim.

"That's very reckless and dangerous," he said.

"I know," Tim replied. Bruce was surprised to see that, despite Tim's nervous energy, he didn't back away from the hard look Bruce was giving him.

"And you do it anyway?" Bruce asked, a challenge in his tone.

"Sometimes you need someone to work from the shadows," Tim answered. "Besides, it's not like I actively engage in combat."

Bruce gazed at Tim, appraising. The boy was certainly smart. And brave. A risky combination, if left unchecked. But with training, with _refinement..._

Behind Tim, where he couldn't see, Babs was shooting Bruce a strong glare.

The comm that was still in his ear turned on. "You have your own side-kick. This one's _mine._"

Bruce bit back a retort, but he knew she was right. He had Damian to watch out for, to take care of. But the _potential_ in this kid...

Conceding defeat, Bruce nodded a miniscule amount. Behind Tim, Babs punched the air.

"So, Timmy," she said, and Tim turned to face her. "You're smart. Do you have school tomorrow?"

Tim blinked, caught off guard by the question. "...Yes?"

"Skip it," she said. "Come back here, to the Batcave. I want to meet you."

Tim looked utterly bewildered. "I, uh, okay."

Babs grinned predatorily. "I'll teach you some of the tricks of the trade."

* * *

Once Tim had left, and the screens were off, and Damian and Bruce were upstairs, drinking some cocoa Alfred made for them, Damian turned to his father with an angry glare.

"I don't like him."

"I'm not asking you to."

Damian scowled. "Are you really going to let that – that _fanboy_ – continue whatever stupid thing he does?"

"He'd do it anyway, and I wouldn't be able to stop him," Bruce said slowly. "If he's avoided detection for eight years, it'd be easy for him to avoid detection now."

"But why are you letting that _interloper_ in our house? In the Cave?" Damian asked, frustration in his tone.

Bruce sipped his cocoa. "I can't let a boy wander around stopping crime without supervision."

Damian frowned and slumped back in his chair. He refused to look at Bruce.

Alfred walked in, carrying a tray of freshly baked bread. He glanced at the sulking Damian and turned to Bruce.

_What?_ Bruce lifted an eyebrow.

Alfred's eyes flicked over to Damian. _Talk to him._

Bruce sighed as Alfred left the room and looked at Damian. His son was still avoiding his gaze. What was he even mad about? Damian was too young for this teenage angst...

Bruce wracked his mind. _Interloper. Fanboy. Moronic idiot._ His eyes widened. When he and Oracle were having that silent conversation across the screens, Damian had been there to see the whole thing. And he knew that his son was smart enough to read the clues.

"Damian," Bruce said, in a softer tone. "You know you're still my son, right?"

"Of _course _I do, Father," Damian scoffed. But he scooted a little closer to Bruce anyway.

"You're Robin," Bruce said quietly. "You're a _good _Robin." Bruce took a breath, remembering a conversation he had with Alfred a few days before. "I'm proud of you."

Damian didn't answer, but he did turn his head and meet Bruce's eyes. A moment passed.

"Thank you, Father."

They sat in companionable silence, not stirring until Alfred came to shoo them upstairs to get some sleep.

* * *

**A/N: I really, really, _really_ love civilian!Tim. And fanboy!Tim. And Tim just being a nerd in general. Can you tell he's my favorite character?**

**I wanted to continue this, but I have no idea where to go with this thing. So I'm just gonna leave it as a one-shot.**

**-Lazuli Quetzal**


	2. Meetings

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Batman, or Red Robin, or DC comics, or any ideas concepts or characters mentioned in this story! I am a sixteen-year-old girl playing with fanfiction!**

**A/N: So I got a few reviews asking me to continue this, and Tim deserves all the love in the world, so... yeah. Go to the bottom for more info on this.**

* * *

_Tim meets his heroes. It goes about as well as you'd expect._

_Which is to say, it didn't go well. At all._

* * *

1.

"Soo," Tim said, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "What are you going to teach me?"

Barbara Gordon – he still couldn't believe he was going to be learning from the _original Batgirl_ – was casually typing something into Bruce's computer. So far, they hadn't really discussed anything yet. He shifted his weight, as though he still couldn't decide whether to be comfortable or nervous.

"Can you hack?" She asked him, and Tim jumped, startled.

He thought for a moment. "I know the basics," he shrugged.

"That'll have to do," Barbara said. "I'll teach you more on the job."

Tim blinked. "So... I'm not going to be another costumed hero flying around the city," he said slowly.

"Oh God, I hope not," Barbara said. "I don't need _another_ one to keep track of. No, you're going to be... ah, what's the word?" She turned away from the screen and scratched her head.

"Assistant?" Tim suggested.

"Of a sort," Barbara agreed.

"Oh." Tim tilted his head, thinking about what being the Oracle's assistant would entail.

"I can't walk," Barbara lamented. "I learned to deal, but it gets in the way occasionally. So _you_, my stealthy friend, are going to be my legs."

"Legs?" Tim asked.

"Exactly," She said. "Do you know how annoying it is when those damn Bats start asking me for favors? 'Hack this, Oracle', 'I need this, Oracle'. I'm a hacker, not a miracle worker. If they aren't on site feeding me information or establishing a connection, I can't help them." She scowled. "And somehow they never find the time to help _me_ out. Dick still hasn't planted my chip into the Bludhaven police records, and he _worked_ there! I mean, I could just hack it, but it's the _thought_ that counts!"

Tim imagined himself breaking into company buildings and planting chips and viruses into their networks at Barbara's request. _Well,_ he thought, _I guess it's doable._

"There's also the problem of those old-style villains," Barbara continued. "I can get my hands on pretty much anything digital. But when it's analog..."

"You can't go on site to get it," Tim finished.

"Exactly," Barbara nodded. "Luckily, you already come equipped with stealth skills and camera know-how. You can sneak around the city. What you need to learn is how to sneak around other things – security cameras, motion sensors, thermal scanners, et cetera."

"And how are we going to do that?" Tim asked, suddenly feeling apprehensive.

Barbara grinned. "Meet your stealth instructor, Cassandra."

"Hello."

Tim jumped at the voice right by his ear. He whirled around, clutching his chest, and stared wide eyed at the person behind him.

She was a woman a bit older than himself, dressed in a full black outfit, and a smirk on her face.

"When did you -?" Tim stammered, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart.

Cassandra shot him a wide smile. "You do not pay attention," she said. "Been here since the beginning."

Tim blinked. "Oh."

"As you know, she's a former Batgirl," Barbara continued with a wicked smile. "She'll be teaching you self defense and stealth."

Cassandra beamed. Tim got the feeling this was going to be a lot more than Babs let on.

* * *

2.

Steph whistled as she ran across the rooftops. It was a slow night tonight. After a few minutes of pure, recreational freerunning, she decided to stop by Oracle's and have a chat with her mentor.

Still in a good mood, she made her way down to the basement of Barbara's building and entered. She caught sight of a figure sitting in front of the screens.

"Hey, Babs, got any -" she cut off.

Instead of Barbara, there was some random dude sitting at her normal spot, eating a piece of pizza. He froze, spun around in his swivel chair, and stared at her. There was still a pizza in his hand.

What the _hell?_

It took a few moments for her to recognize him – Tim, from her Chemistry class. And somehow, that piece of information did not make this any less confusing.

"Shit," Tim muttered. "Ahh, um, are you looking for Oracle?"

Steph nodded mutely.

Tim scratched the back of his neck, an embarrassed blush making its way across his face. "She's in the, uh, bathroom."

Awkward silence.

"Um, would you like some, uh, pizza?"

"No, thank you," Steph said, remembering how to use her mouth. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I'm Tim," he said, answering none of her questions. He paused. "I'm in your chemistry class."

"No shit," Steph said. The full implications of that statement sunk in. "Wait, you _know who I am_?!"

Tim didn't answer. He sat there, stammering in his chair. There was the sound of a flushing toilet, and both of their heads snapped up as Barbara Gordon wheeled into the room.

"Oh, hey Steph," she said cheerily.

"What the hell is going on?" Steph demanded.

"Stephanie, This is Tim. Tim, Steph. He's my new assistant."

"Assistant," Steph said slowly.

"Yep," Oracle said. "I need someone to run around doing my work, and you Bats are always too busy to do it."

"So... you hired... Tim?" Steph took a deep breath, trying to reconcile her weird, perpetually sleep-deprived classmate with this new ally.

"I wasn't hired," Tim protested.

"So how did you end up here?" Steph asked, curious.

To her surprise, Tim flushed and Barbara grinned mischievously.

"Was there anything you needed, Batgirl?" Tim asked, desperately trying to change the subject.

"Just wanted to see if O had anything for me," she shrugged. "But, ah, I think this is a story I want to hear."

"Damian caught him," Oracle said.

"Stupid demon brat," Tim scowled. "If he didn't cut open my shoulder with a batarang, you guys never would've found me."

"I'd have gotten you eventually," Oracle reassured him. "So, Steph, Batman and Robin called in yesterday, wanting information on this little stalker..."

Tim groaned and hid his blushing face in his hands.

Yeah, this was _definitely_ a story Steph needed to hear.

* * *

3.

Tim shifted from foot to foot as he waited for the door to open. He glanced behind him, hoping that no one was home, but logic told him otherwise.

The door opened.

"Hello, Master Timothy," Alfred said, not looking very surprised to see him. "Come in."

"Thanks, Alfred," Tim said, entering Wayne Manor. It had been about two months since he stepped into the Batcave, and he hadn't really visited much since.

"I presume you're here to visit Master Damian," Alfred said, glancing at the object in his hands.

Tim scowled at the mention of the Demon Brat. "Unfortunately, yes."

"Perhaps I should warn you," Alfred muttered quietly. "The young man is not very open to visitors at the moment."

Tim clenched his fists, knowing that he was probably the last person Damian wanted to see right now.

But he had a theory about dealing with Damian Wayne, and that theory was this: interaction with the demon spawn was like ripping off a band-aid. You do it quickly and as soon as possible, before it gets all stuck on your problems.

"I'll have cookies for you when you're done," Alfred reassured him.

"Thanks, Alfred," Tim gave the butler a genuine smile. "You're the best."

"Good luck," Alfred said as Tim ascended the stairs.

He was definitely going to need it.

.

He knocked on the door twice before walking in. Instinctively, he ducked. A knife embedded itself in the wall behind him.

"Get out of my room, Drake."

Tim ignored him and moved closer. Another knife hit the floor just an inch away from his left foot.

"I said, _get out._ Are you such an imbecile that you can't understand a basic command?"

"I know what you said, brat," Tim scowled at the boy.

"Then _why are you still here?_"

"First of all, I'm sorry I got your leg broken," Tim started.

Damian scowled, fingering another throwing knife.

"It's _your_ fault, you pathetic excuse for a -"

"I know my weaknesses," Tim cut him off. "I accept responsibility for your injury. But I didn't come here to get insulted, I came here give _this_ back." Tim scowled and place Damian's utility belt on the desk, not wanting to put more weapons within the brat's reach.

"Okay. Now leave," Damian commanded.

Tim took a deep breath. "No."

The boy glared at Tim. He met his gaze, unimpressed.

"What do you _want, _Drake?" Damian growled. "Are you really so scared that you waited for me to be incapacitated before confronting me?"

"I'm not scared of a murderous ten-year-old," Tim shot back. "But what I do want to know is: what is your problem?"

"What's _your_ problem?" Damian shot back.

"Ever since Bruce let me into the Batcave, you've had this grudge against me. Why?"

"Because you're an idiot."

Tim waved his hands. "See, this is what I'm talking about! We've talked, like, five times since we met two months ago, and each conversation was less than three minutes long. Why do you hate me so much? I didn't do anything to you!"

Damian scoffed and turned away, ignoring Tim's presence.

Tim gritted his teeth. "Look, we hardly know each other. I don't know a whole lot about you, and you don't know much about me -"

"I know that you're a useless coward with abandonment issues," Damian muttered.

Tim blinked at that. "What did you say?" he asked, not sure if he head that right.

"I know about your parents," Damian taunted.

Tim froze.

"How you were _so_ useless to them that they took every opportunity to get away."

Tim didn't answer, his breath hitching.

"An awful lot of 'business trips' all happening at the same time," Damian drawled. "How _little_ they must have cared for you. How they didn't even bother to get a proper caretaker for their _only useless son._"

"Shut. Up." Tim's fists curled into fists.

"How you started following Batman around just to get attention," Damain continued. "How you just wanted someone to _notice_ you. The poor little Drake boy, with no friends -"

"SHUT _UP!_" Tim roared. His knuckles were white with strain, and he glared at boy in the bed.

Damian smirked at him. Tim was itching to punch the stupid smile off of the brat's face. Unfortunately, they both knew that Damian would win in any fist fight, broken leg or not.

But Tim had his own arsenal.

Completely forgetting Barbara's advice (Damian hasn't had a normal childhood, just be friendly and he'll open up to you –), he opened his mouth.

"You know what I think?" he said, his voice deceptively smooth. "I think you're just jealous."

"I know my worth," Damian scoffed.

"You're insecure," Tim repeated. "You brag all about being Bruce's son, Bruce Wayne's _only true_ son, but the truth is you don't think you're his son at all. Because Dick, Steph, Cass – hell, even _Jason Todd_ – they were all chosen by Bruce. Bruce took them in because he _wanted _to take them in. But _you,_ –"

A hint of satisfaction seeped into his cool voice. "You're an obligation. A duty. You're scared he doesn't actually want you."

Damian's eyes flashed. "That's a _lie_."

"But it goes even deeper than that," Tim went on, not showing any mercy. "Even worse, you're scared that Bruce actually _does_ want you. You're scared that he actually cares."

Tim leaned forward, ready to spit the final nail into the coffin.

"You're scared that he's trying so hard for you, and that he's going to be disappointed when he finds out his only son is just another violent, angry, _murderous_ failure, _just like the people he throws in jail._"

Silence. Blue eyes glared at blue eyes. Two sneers on two different faces.

To his credit, Damian didn't pull out another knife. His hands were shaking with rage, and his eyes flashed dangerously, but otherwise, he didn't make any other move.

"Get out of my room, Drake," Damian said, the sheets of his bed bunched into his fists.

"Did I touch a nerve, brat?" Tim taunted, reveling in Damian's anger.

"I said, _get out of my room._"

"Get well soon, _Damian,_" Tim snapped, and he stormed out of the room. The door slammed behind him.

Damian took a steadying breath as Tim's footsteps grew fainter and fainter. His fingers twitched, itching to launch another knife at the door, but he doubted Alfred would appreciate the gashes in the expensive wood.

"Well played, Drake," he whispered to himself. "I guess you do have a backbone after all."

* * *

4.

Sometimes Dick really hated being the oldest. Or – no, he really hated having _Batman _as a father.

"Just couldn't say 'no', could you," he muttered to himself, as he drove himself towards Wayne Manor.

Bruce called him last night, saying that he had some important Justice League mumbo jumbo to take care of off-planet. He also mentioned that Damian had broken his leg, but he didn't mention how, and he needed someone to watch the kid and the city.

Personally, Dick was of the opinion that Steph, Cass, and the Birds of Prey were more than enough to keep Gotham under control for a week, but Bruce wanted him to keep an eye on his son. Dick supposed he shouldn't complain – Damian was a good kid once you got past the angry assassin stuff.

Dick entered the Manor with a grin, had a nice conversation with Alfred, and headed up to say hello to Damian. He paused outside Damian's room, noting a throwing knife embedded in the wall right outside the door. He took a deep breath and entered the room.

"I told you, go _away -_" Damian cut off. "Oh. It's you."

Dick grinned at his little brother and walked toward his bed. "Hey, Dami!"

"Don't call me that," Damian protested, but scooted over to give him space to sit down.

"So I heard you broke your leg," Dick stated, glancing at Damian's cast.

"It was Drake's fault," Damian grumbled. "He didn't move out of the way and I tripped over his useless body."

Dick blinked. "Drake?"

"Yes, him," Damian scowled. "The inept fanboy Gordon took into her care."

Dick stared. "I have no idea who you're talking about," he said slowly.

"Father didn't tell you," Damian observed. "Why are you here, then?"

"Bruce went off planet and told me to keep an eye on the city and you while he's gone," Dick said, already planning to yell at Bruce for not keeping him in the loop. "Although, he never mentioned any names, just said to keep an eye on the kid."

Damian rolled his eyes. "I do not require supervision. Drake, on the other hand, would probably die miserably if he didn't have someone watching his every move."

Dick was starting to feel sorry for this 'Drake' character. It took forever to get Damian to warm up to someone.

_Damn it, Bruce, can't you ever give anyone a heads up?_

"If Babs took him in, I'm sure he has potential," Dick reasoned. "I think I'd like to meet this 'Drake'."

"You missed him by an hour," Damian said.

Dick blinked. "He was... here?"

"Tt. Why do you think there's a knife in the hallway?"

"No, I mean – Bruce let a newcomer into Wayne Manor?" Dick asked. Bruce was honestly the most paranoid person he knew. There was _no_ way he told a newcomer his secret identity.

"He knew before he met us," Damian dismissed it. "He's been stalking us for a while."

That settled it. Dick _had_ to meet this kid.

And also have a talk with Bruce about communication, because the ass just up and left for space, leaving Dick to deal with this on his own.

.

Tim carefully lifted his camera and peered through the viewfinder. Babs didn't have any tasks for him, so tonight he had the freedom to do what he wanted. So far, he'd been wandering the city, looking out for a good case. For now, though, he'd found a great view of the Gotham Clock tower, and was currently hanging off the edge of a building to get it.

Thanks to his association with Barbara Gordon, he had access to much better supplies and ammunition. He kept his faithful camera – the same one he'd used back when Steph first started her Robin run – but he no longer had to lug everything around in his backpack. Barbara spoiled him with top-of-the-line camera supplies that could fit into his sleeves.

It was a warm, black, waterproof jacket with several hidden pockets to hold SD cards, lenses, and a few weapons that Babs demanded he carry with him. There was a large hood that obscured his entire face when up, but Barbara insisted upon a domino mask well. And finally, a dark green outline of a bat was stitched upon the back, to identify him in case he ran into the other Bats of Gotham.

Green, because it was the same color as Barbara's Oracle icon. Tim personally had a preference for red, but it could be a bit eye-catching, which was pretty much what he wanted to avoid as a stealth agent.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and Tim shifted the camera around, aiming his view at a new figure. He squinted, trying to make out the figure in the shadows. It seemed to be male, with dark hair and a flash of blue -

Tim's stomach flopped.

The figure was leaping across the rooftops, steadily drawing closer to his location. Despite himself, Tim began categorizing the acrobatic twists – triple somersault, backflip, back handspring, front-flip with a half-twist. The figure let out an exuberant, familiar laugh, betraying his joy at being able to dance across the rooftops of Gotham.

Tim was too busy trying to calm his breathing. The last time he'd seen Nightwing, he'd been standing two feet away, trying to convince him to come back and be Robin. And he didn't do it. He'd been too scared.

He'd told Barbara and the Bats how he'd discovered who they were, but he never mentioned his self-appointed mission to get Batman a Robin. As far as they knew, Stephanie's and Bruce's meeting was an accident, and Tim had never talked to Dick Grayson before.

Crap. He should've known this was coming. Bruce was off-planet, after all, and Damian had a broken leg. Of _course_ Bruce's eldest would return to Gotham to visit.

He returned to reality: Nightwing had landed at the edge of his alley. Tim was hidden in the shadows, unseen, and he watched as Nightwing muttered something, his hand on his ear. Probably talking to someone.

Tim debated with himself for a moment before pulling out the small tablet Barbara had gotten him. He needed to practice hacking anyway, and why not try on a live line?

After a few seconds, he was in.

"... see anyone," Nightwing was saying. "I thought you said he was here?"

"He is," Barbara said, and Tim blinked. "Probably hiding. Kid's almost as stealthy as Black Bat."

Tim looked up and saw Nightwing looking around. _Me,_ Tim realized. _They're talking about me?_

"Well, she's hard to find even when she's not trying," Nightwing scowled. "And speaking of hiding, why didn't you tell me you took on a kid of your own?"

"It was B's job to tell you," Barbara informed him. "I take it you didn't know?"

Nightwing pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not until Damian started complaining about him."

Tim sucked in a breath. He'd visited Damian earlier today and might have ruined any hope for a friendship for good with that argument. Which means anything Dick would hear about him would have come from the Demon Brat's mouth.

"Hey, Nightwing," Barbara's voice drifted through the comm.

"Yeah?"

"Turn around."

_Damn it, Babs! _Tim mentally cursed his mentor.

Nightwing suddenly whipped around and stared right at him. Tim froze on the spot, because Dick Grayson, Nightwing of Bludhaven, the original Robin, and one of the _Flying-fucking-Graysons_ was _right in front of him_.

"Shouldn't have hacked the line," Barbara laughed into the comm. "I'll leave you two to it."

Barbara cut the line, leaving Tim and Nightwing to stare at each other.

"Uh, hi," Nightwing said, breaking the silence with an easy grin. "I'm Nightwing."

"Can I have your autograph?" Tim blurted out.

The words hung in the air for a few moments before Tim realized what he said. He clapped his hands over his traitorous mouth and winced.

"...That was _so not what I meant to say,_" he said, in a near whisper.

And, to his horror – Nightwing _laughed._

Tim screwed his eyes shut, an embarrassed blush making its way across his face. Why was he such a nerd? Couldn't he talk to _anyone_ without – without –

"It's not funny!" Tim protested weakly, eyes still closed.

Nightwing stopped laughing – slowly, but he stopped. Tim appreciated the effort.

"I'm sorry, I just –" Nightwing snickered slightly, "– wasn't expecting that."

Tim took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "Okay, let's start over. Hi. I'm..." he trailed off, realizing that he didn't exactly have a codename. Tim didn't really name himself, and Barbara just gave him random codenames on the spot.

Nightwing looked at him expectantly.

"I don't really have a codename?" It came out as more of a question than a statement.

"...No codename," Nightwing said, disbelieving.

Tim shrugged. "I don't really interact with... the criminals... so, no, they don't really call me anything."

Nightwing looked confused for a second before he took on a determined expression. "I'm going to give you a codename!"

"...What?"

Nightwing grinned, and he patted Tim on the shoulder. "Everyone needs a codename. And I'll be in Gotham for about two weeks. That's plenty of time to get to know the latest addition to the family and come up with a super awesome codname... like the Gray Ghost!"

Tim blinked. "As in, that character from that old TV show?"

"No, as in _you._"

...Was this seriously his childhood hero, his idol? "One, that name's already taken. Two, there's literally no gray in my costume," he said, gesturing to his all-black ensemble with the hint of green.

"Just 'Ghost', then."

Tim didn't even have anything to answer that.

"Spectre?"

"That's a villain."

"Photon."

"Photon?"

"You know, because you're a _photo_grapher."

"... Uh, no."

"It'll grow on you, Photon. Hey, let's go to Oracle's and brainstorm and bond over pizza," Nightwing suggested.

Pizza with _Dick Grayson?_ Pizza with his hero, with his idol, with his inspiration? If that meant putting up with ridiculous codenames, he'd do it a thousand times over. Tim nodded excitedly.

Nightwing grinned. "I'm sure O has a pen, so I can give you my autograph."

* * *

**A/N: I guess this isn't really civilian!Tim anymore?**

**About the codename thing: I couldn't think of one that wasn't taken or sounded really bad. Originally it was going to be something along the lines of 'Snake' or something because 1) Tim's a sneaky, cunning ass, although I firmly believe he's a Hufflepuff, and 2) _that Greek mythology reference,_ as in Babs is the Oracle and the Oracle's guardian was a python.**

**But now it's sort of a running joke that Tim doesn't have a codename, and that very fact leads into some _very_ entertaining reactions between Timmy and Jason when they finally meet.**

**Speaking of Jason, I _would've_ put it into this update, but it's turning into a ridiculously long adventure starting with a gunshot and ending with a bad movie marathon. I'll post it someday, if I ever finish it.**

**And if I ever get around to writing about how Damian broke his leg, I'll put that in here, too.**

**Basically, whenever I write short little stories about this universe, I'll post it here so it's all in one place. It'll be updated haphazardly, with varying lengths, but I have no doubt I'll write more.**

**And here's a little excerpt from Tim meets Jason:**

* * *

_Alright. Now's my chance,_ Tim thought. He kept an eye on Jason as he held the attention of the large group of angry men and took the opening. As quickly and as stealthily as he could, he slipped through behind the guards -

And promptly tripped on a paint can.

Heads whirled as the can clattered to the ground, making noises loud enough to wake the dead. Tim lay sprawled out on the ground, muttering panicked curses under his breath.

"Damn it, Babybird!" Jason shouted, already pulling out his gun. "You had _one job!_"

"I told you not to call me that!" Tim yelled back, pulling out his weapon of choice: the collapsible bo staff Babs bought for him.

This was going to get messy.


	3. Backstory

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Batman, or Red Robin, or DC comics, or any ideas concepts or characters mentioned in this story! I am a sixteen-year-old girl playing with fanfiction!**

**A/N: Oh, _wow_, this got long. There's a bit more cussing than in the previous chapters, but only because of Jason's mouth.**

* * *

_Tim would've like to blame the Red Hood, but looking back, everything was pretty much his own fault._

* * *

_Bang._

Jason Todd was having a really, _really_ bad night. He was running on about two and a half hours of sleep, without caffeine, and only had one working gun in his arsenal due to the fact that one was in the bottom of Gotham Bay and the others were in the possession of the asshole that was shooting at him right now.

His instincts screamed at him, and he ducked. A bullet whizzed past his ear. Jason ducked behind a wall for cover, the bullets of his _own-fucking-guns_ peppering the ground where he once stood.

"Fucking _hell,_" he cursed, rubbing his eyes. Under normal circumstances, this guy would be dead already, but Jason was suffering from both sleep deprivation and a healthy sense of paranoia.

Someone was watching him – he could feel it. Even before he ran into this trigger-happy drug dealer, he felt eyes on the back of his head. Jason didn't get this far in the vigilante business without good instincts, and he _knew_ when someone was watching him.

But he couldn't deal with that right now. First, he needed to kill the douche who took his guns.

He sighed as he checked the only handgun on him. Three bullets left. No matter. He could do this in one. Jason poked his head out from behind the wall and readied the gun.

Breathe in. Grip tightly. Adjust your aim. And –

The man dropped his gun and cursed, gripping his bloodied hand. Jason smirked as he stepped out into the open, casually twirling his handgun around his fingers. Too bad the criminal couldn't see his amused expression hidden underneath his helmet.

"_That,_ my friend, is how you shoot," Jason commented. "Should've clocked more hours at the firing range, huh?"

"Go to _hell,_" his assailant spat out.

Despite himself, Jason stiffened. But he forced a smile underneath his helmet and readied his gun.

"I've been to hell," Jason informed the terrified crook. He raised his gun and took in the quivering form in front of him. "Gotta say, I wasn't exactly impressed."

The gun fired, and the criminal slumped over. Blood trickled down the crook's forehead. Calmly, Jason liberated his weapons from the crook's body.

Without even a backwards glance, Jason left the scene.

And two pairs of eyes followed his movements.

* * *

Tim wasn't entirely sure what he was expecting to find when he started following this – for lack of a better word – _ninja,_ but an obsession with the Red Hood was _not _part of it.

Tim chanced upon the ninja during one of his information runs for Barbara. He caught sight of the figure from out of the corner of his eye, and it piqued his curiosity. After a few nights of tracking down the figure, he realized that a) he was in the Red Hood territory, which Barbara had specifically forbidden him to enter, and b) this ninja was trailing the Red Hood.

Tim knew that the Red Hood was Jason Todd. If he didn't know before getting caught by Damian and Bruce, he certainly figured it out when mentioning the Red Hood in Dick Grayson's presence a few days after their initial meeting.

The man stiffened, and his voice took on a semi-sad, semi-nostalgic tone for the rest of their conversation.

He didn't know or why Jason Todd was alive and running around Gotham, but it didn't really matter. Tim only knew bits and pieces of the Red Hood/Batfamily dynamic, but he did know the Red Hood's presence was as sore spot for Batman. And though the family didn't condone his methods, they did care for him.

(The whole thing was confusing and messed up.)

Tim knew if he told Barbara about the ninja trailing Jason Todd, she'd forbid him from getting involved, get Batman and possibly Batgirl to deal with it, and leave everyone high-strung and emotionally fragile for the next two weeks. That was not going to be good for any of them, especially since they were dealing with several kidnapped children cases, and broken focus was the last thing they needed. But Tim, on the other hand, was going to have a lot of time on his hands.

His dad was coming back to Gotham for a visit. All Tim had to do was ask Barbara for a week off, so he could spend time with his dad (and conveniently keep his vigilantism secret). And since Jack Drake never paid attention to what Tim did at night, it would be _child's play_ to sneak out and conduct his own investigation.

Tim specialized at 'under the radar', after all.

Decision made, Tim watched as the Red Hood calmly headed for home, leaving the dead body sitting in the shadows. The ninja was after him in an instant. After waiting fifteen seconds, Tim got to his feet and headed for the Oracle's HQ.

The ninja didn't seem to be an immediate threat, and he needed more information.

* * *

"Hey, Barbara," Tim said, hovering at the doorway to the secret basement. "Can I look at those files of recurring enemies?"

"Huh? Oh, sure," she said, and she pulled up the files he wanted. "I'll send it to your tablet."

"Sweet! Thanks!" Tim pulled out the aforementioned tablet and checking it.

"Why do you want those, anyway?" Barbara asked, studying her protégé's reaction.

Tim stiffened. "Oh, just in case I run into any of them, you know? With this bat on my bat, I'm kinda a target to any of Bruce's enemies, too," he explained, looking a bit too casual.

Barbara's eyes narrowed. "If you say so," she said slowly. "You'd tell me if you ran into any, right? I kinda have to keep track of all this stuff."

"Of course," Tim nodded. His body language shifted, looking more nervous now. "Also, since my dad's coming back to Gotham..."

"Sure," Barbara softened. "You can have the week off."

Tim grinned back at her, suppressing a twinge of guilt. This was the first outright lie he told Barbara. But, he reasoned, he wasn't exactly _lying – _he _did _want to spend time with his dad.

"You sure I'm not pushing you too hard?" Barbara asked. "You've taken a few nights off in the past week." She paused. "You can tell me if anything's bothering you," she reminded him, concern lacing her voice.

"Nothing I can't handle," Tim waved off her concern. "I'll let you know if it gets too big or something. Night."

He left the room, already scrolling through the files. Barbara frowned. 'If it gets too big.' Interesting choice of words.

She'd give him the benefit of the doubt. Tim was always independent, especially since he'd started his crime fighting career on his own. He preferred pushing through his problems and only accepting help when he felt he needed it. Whatever it was, she hoped it would work itself out in the coming days.

* * *

Batgirl scanned the room as Batman and Robin tag teamed against the perp. The Dynamic Duo easily brought down the crook. Watching it made Batgirl smile – she remembered those days, in the Robin costume. It was one of the most fun things she'd ever done, but she wouldn't trade Batgirl for anything.

As Batman and Robin began their interrogation, Batgirl began to search the old apartment room for clues.

She'd been on this case for a week – Batman had it for a month – and still, there were almost no leads. A month ago, children aged four to nine had started to disappear, and no one knew where they were or who was taking them. A break in the case led them to this guy – the leader of an up and coming street gang that mainly consisted of a bunch of nerdy high school kids.

It was definitely unusual. The whole setup was extremely complex, and suspiciously so. Everyone knew that someone _larger_ was behind this whole thing, but so far, the Bats couldn't figure out who. It was frustrating. The longer it took, the smaller the chances they'd be able to recover the missing kids.

Batgirl moved to the kitchen. She systematically checked all of the cabinets, searching for any important evidence, when a movement outside the window caught her eye.

A figure, moving along the rooftops. Her eyes widened in recognition.

She burst into the living room, where Batman and Robin were interrogating their crook. "League of Assassins," she said quickly. "I'm going after the ninja."

Without waiting for a reply, Batgirl slid open a window leading to a fire escape and was flying across the rooftops. Behind her, she could hear Batman's yells, but it was too late – the chase had begun.

Her comm switched on. Not wanting another lecture, she removed the earpiece and shoved it in the pocket on the edge of her gloves. This was what she'd trained for. Batgirl could handle one measly ninja.

As she ran, she began piecing it together in her head. Of _course_ it was the League of Assassins. Ra's al Ghul had been trying to get a foothold in Gotham for years. It was only logical to start with small crime, to float under Batman's radar.

And with the nerdy teens. There was no way a bunch of high school kids managed to make a big enough name for themselves in the crime business to be taken seriously, not without support. She had to give it to the immortal bastard – it was smart, and subtle.

The real question is: why did they suddenly switch from the drug trade to kidnapping? What was the difference? She had the feeling that the answers would lie with the ninja she was tracking.

In terms of stealth, Batgirl was better than Nightwing but worse than Robin. But she was good enough – moving slowly, she managed to keep track of the ninja, only losing sight a few times.

As her target began to slow down, Batgirl began speeding up, ready to close in. But right before she started her sprint, a weapon flew across her path, grazing her glove.

Immediately, she whirled around, hand on a batarang, and searching for her attacker. A figure stepped out of the shadows, wearing a tattered red hoodie and she blinked in confusion.

"Dra -" a hand clapped over her mouth.

"Shh," Tim whispered. "Don't let the ninja know we're here."

After making sure she wouldn't yell, Tim removed his hand from her mouth.

"I – what are you doing here?!" she hissed quietly. She inspected her gloves – the batarang Tim had thrown had sliced through her earpiece. There went the communication. "Ah, Oracle's gonna _kill_ me for ruining this!"

Tim blinked at the pieces of the broken comm and blushed. "Uh, oops. Didn't mean to do that."

Steph sighed. It'd be hassle to replace, but Batman was a billionaire. "I thought your dad was back in Gotham – you took the week off!"

"He is," Tim whispered back. He turned around and stepped back into his hiding place, keeping an eye on the ninja.

"Well, why are you here then?" Steph asked, joining him in the shadows. "And why aren't you wearing your normal adventuring outfit?"

"Oracle's got trackers on my fancy jacket," Tim explained. "I managed to disable the one in my bo staff, but I figured getting rid of the others would alert her to something."

Steph blinked. "And what are you doing that needs to be hidden from Oracle?"

He gestured to the ninja. "I've been following this guy for about two weeks," he said. "I'm –"

"Wait," Steph cut him off. "You've been following a guy from the _League of Assassins_ for _two weeks_? And you _didn't tell Oracle_?"

Tim shook his head. "If I told Oracle, Batman would get involved."

Steph looked at Tim warily. "Why wouldn't you want Batman involved?" She asked, not knowing if she wanted to hear the answer.

Tim took a deep breath. "Because the ninja's after the Red Hood."

* * *

This was getting ridiculous.

Whoever it was tailing him – they were _good._ Jason hadn't caught so much of a glimpse of his mysterious shadow. It was almost as if they were taunting him with their unseen gaze.

The Red Hood was not one for silent displays of intimidation, not one for politics and subtle messages. He was straightforward, always taking, never giving even an inch of his hard-earned wealth. This stalker had been following him for weeks, and he still had no idea what they wanted. He'd been done with this whole game a week ago. If he'd ever caught sight of his shadow, they'd be dead. Except, he couldn't catch them.

But tonight, something in the atmosphere had changed. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew that tonight, he'd get to meet his stalker.

His fingers twitched, itching to pull the trigger and shoot the damn ghost. Tonight, one way or another, he was getting his answers.

* * *

Tim and Steph carefully followed the ninja, and by extension, Red Hood, through Gotham. With no way to communicate with Oracle or Batman, they were pretty much on their own.

Steph was getting antsy ten minutes into their adventure.

"How can you stand sneaking around all the time?" Steph whispered quietly. "Gahh, I just want to _punch_ someone."

"I thought you learned stealth under Batman," Tim replied, amused.

"Didn't mean I had to _like_ it," Steph grumbled.

"I guess it's a Robin thing," Tim mused quietly.

Steph frowned. "What's _that_ supposed to mean, Nerd?"

Tim rolled his eyes at Steph's unofficial codename for him. "Well, Nightwing was never the most subtle."

"True," Steph admitted. Dick was always a performer at heart – flashy moves and flips and the like. Steph recalled the first time she met Nightwing, still wearing that ridiculous disco costume he was so fond of.

"Red Hood was action oriented," Tim said. "You were all quips and sarcasm. And the Demon Spawn, assassin training or not, has a flair for the dramatic."

Steph snorted. "_Spawn._ I'll have to remember that one."

Tim squinted, studying the ninja they were following. "Is it just me, or did their body language change?"

Steph followed Tim's gaze. "Yeah," she said. She narrowed her eyes, studying the ninja's movements.

Her eyes widened. "He's gonna attack!" She whispered.

Tim glanced down at the Red Hood below, his trained eyes scanning the shadows. "And he's not alone," he said. He pulled out his weapon of choice: the collapsible bo staff Babs bought for him.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Steph called out. "I don't see anyone – _woah._"

With a single hand signal from the ninja, the alley became alive with people. Tim brandished his staff and leaped into the fight. He took down one of the guys with a single hit, but then they started mobbing him, and he began to lose ground.

Steph, cursing, jumped in after Tim.

"What the _hell,_ you nerd!?" Steph yelled, ducking a punch from one of Jason's attackers. "You're not trained in combat!"

In a blink, a gun was trained at her face. The Red Hood looked confused, or as confused as she could tell with that helmet on his head.

"_Batgirl?_" He asked, his voice filled with shock.

"Duck!" Steph called out. Hood ducked, and she threw a batarang into the attacker's face.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?" Hood asked, as they moved back to back. Tim quickly joined their circle, his staff in hand. "And who the _fuck_ is this kid?"

"Less talk, more fight," Steph replied. She scanned the crowd. The attackers matched up with descriptions of members of the gang she'd been tracking down. So the League of Assassins was involved with the whole kidnapping thing.

The odds were against them. There were at _least_ eight attackers, and only three of them. And Tim, talented as he was with a bo staff, was going on less than six months of training.

"If we make it out alive, I'm getting Robin to choose your codename," Steph snapped.

"Oh, shut _up,_" Tim replied.

The attackers pressed in.

* * *

"God. Fucking. _Damnit._"

"I heard you the first _twenty times_, Hood."

"Oh,_ you're_ one to talk, Replacement. Care to repeat those expletives you were hurling at your little friend here?"

Steph glowered at the wall. The three of them – Jason, Tim, and Stephanie – were tied up against a pole in some abandoned warehouse in the outskirts of Gotham.

Needless to say, the fight did not end well.

"Speaking of which – who the hell are you?" Jason asked, twisting his head around to look at Tim. "Did Daddy Bats pick up another street rat?"

"I'm with Oracle, actually," Tim replied. He wriggled in vain, but stopped when his left shoulder started aching (he'd taken a nice knock during the fight). Unfortunately, they were restrained well. Not that they'd expected anything less from the League of Assassins.

"Oracle's, huh? Didn't realize she'd picked up her own," Jason mused.

"You shouldn't have," Tim replied. "I'm not supposed to be noticed."

"Fat lot of good _that_ did," Steph hissed. "What the hell was that, jumping into the fight? And here I thought you were the _least_ reckless out of all of us."

"To be fair, I only counted five attackers. I wasn't expecting the extra ten that jumped in out of nowhere."

"And that makes it _so_ much better."

Silence.

"Wait a sec," Jason said suddenly. "You. Uh, whatever your name was."

"I don't have a codename."

Jason snorted. "Right. _Nameless. _You said you weren't supposed to be noticed. Were you _following_ me?"

"No," Tim said, a little too quickly.

Steph turned around to give Tim an incredulous look.

"Well, technically, I was following the other guy. Ending up with you was just a coincidence."

Jason growled. "I'd really like to make that guy choke on his own teeth," he said. "Fucking asshole's been trailing me for weeks."

"You could at least _pretend_ to not be a murderous asshat," Steph cut in.

Jason turned to glare at her. "Oh, right. You and your fucking bats, with your stupid-ass high and mighty _moral_ _code._ I'm sorry, your highness, didn't mean to speak so _crudely_ in your presence. Does it go against your obsolete code of conduct?"

"You know that's not what it's about," Steph snapped back.

"Oh, really? Because from _my_ point of view, it looks like you lot are all just making excuses for yourselves."

Steph clenched her fists. "I'm not arguing this with you right now."

"Because you're too much of a fucking _coward_ to do what it takes."

"And _you're_ too much of a whiny child to say that you're wrong," Steph shot back. "We don't _murder,_ Hood."

"'We'?" Jason asked, his tone one of offended disbelief. "What _'we'_? Don't try and lump me in with your dysfunctional train wreck of a family."

"Right," Steph drawled. "I guess that means you won't try and kill me every time we come across each other? Because it's definitely not personal."

"It'd be less personal if Batman managed to get a decent replacement."

Steph's eyes flashed. "I am _not a replacement,_" she hissed.

"Oh, really?"

"Stop shoving your insecurities onto me," Steph snapped. "Just because you have unresolved issues with Nightwing doesn't mean you have to -"

"Can you both just _shut up_ and save it for later?" Tim broke in.

Steph turned and stared at Tim in disbelief. "Excuse you?" She hissed.

"Now isn't the time for you two to hash out your emotionally stunted relationship," Tim snapped. "I'm trying to think, and it's kinda hard to do when you two are sniping at each other."

"Well, at least _you're_ not as annoying as the _Replacement_," Jason drawled, enjoying the enraged expression on both Batgirl's and the kid's face.

Steph opened her mouth, but to their surprise – Tim beat her to it.

"Just – stop insulting Batgirl!" Tim nearly yelled. "Look, it's _not her fault_ that she became Robin, if there's someone you should pick on it's –" Tim abruptly cut himself off.

Steph shot Tim a shocked and confused look. "...What do you mean, 'it's not my fault I became Robin'?" She asked.

Tim froze, inwardly cursing himself. Batgirl and Red Hood were looking at him expectantly.

"Nothing," Tim grit out.

"You can't just say something like that and then not explain!" Steph exclaimed. "What do you know about how I became Robin, anyway?"

"You already know about the childhood stalking," Tim grumbled. It was embarrassing, but anything to get away from this subject was a good thing.

Jason snorted. "Stalking?"

"When I was a kid, I used to –"

"Oh no, you don't," Steph growled, recognizing the subject change for what it was. "We can give Little Red Riding Hood over here the scoop later. What are you talking about?"

Tim screwed up his face. "Little Red?"

"I swear to God I'll officially make your codename 'Creepy Fanboy' if you try and change the subject one more time."

Tim closed his eyes. "Fine. On how you became Robin."

"Yes?"

"You and Batman ended up at the same crime scene. Batman told you to stop being Spoiler. You slapped him in the face."

Jason turned his head to look at Stephanie. "You slapped _Batman_ in the face?" he asked, grudgingly respectful. "Shit, I've always wanted to do that."

Steph, meanwhile, was eyeing Tim warily. "You were watching that night?"

"Yeah," Tim admitted. "Batman knocked you around a bit, to show you how not ready you were. Despite the beating, you persisted for the next few weeks. Finally, when Batman was incapacitated while fighting Two-Face, you swept in, saved the day, and he picked you up to be Robin."

Jason let out a low whistle. "Damn, Replacement. Never heard _that_ story before."

"Stop calling me Replacement! And I know this already, though," Steph said. "There's more."

"Yeah, there is," Tim said weakly. "Remember, the first time you met Batman, you slipped on the roof and fell into the alley where he was?"

Jason laughed as Steph flushed underneath her cowl. She remembered quite clearly – falling on her ass in front of the great big Bat. It was one of the main reasons Bruce declared her not ready.

"...It wasn't an accident."

Silence. And then –

"Are you implying that that was _your_ doing?" Steph asked, voice dangerously calm.

Tim did not meet her eyes. "...Yes?"

"I couldn't sit down properly for weeks!" Steph hissed. "What the _hell?_"

"The night you saved Batman from Two-Face," Tim continued. "You were headed west, opposite from them, but you heard a scream. So you turned around and stumbled upon Batman and Two-Face." Tim took a deep breath. "The scream was me."

Steph didn't answer as she slumped against the pole they were tied up next to. Learning that _dodo birds_ were still alive would be less mind-numbing than this.

"You... you planned it?" Steph asked, voice weak.

Tim chewed on the inside of his mouth.

Jason was giving Tim an appraising look. "So what you're saying is... it's _your_ fault the Replacement became my replacement."

"...Kinda."

Steph and Jason gave him disbelieving looks.

"Okay, _mostly_ my fault," Tim amended. "Remember those stray batarangs you used against Two-Face? I left those there, too."

Steph screwed her eyes shut. "Oh my _God._ And _I_ thought I just got lucky."

"That's all fine and dandy, but you know – it seems like you _wanted_ to get me replaced," Jason said, in an accusatory tone.

"What? No!" Tim protested. "I just wanted to make sure Batman was okay! After you, uh, passed, Batman kinda went off the deep end for a bit."

"Really," Jason said, unconvinced.

"He got really reckless, making sloppy mistakes," Tim recalled. "Took out his grief on the criminals – some of them still can't walk. Hell, he almost killed some of them. Commissioner Gordon was getting suspicious, and Batman was almost dying every other night."

At this, Jason fell silent. He'd never heard this before – to him, it seemed as though nothing had changed. He came back to life, and Batman was galloping around Gotham with a replacement, as though Jason's death hadn't _mattered._

But this. Batman had crippled criminals? Almost broke his own rule? Bruce _grieved?_ The idea of him feeling emotion was almost foreign to Jason. The only one who could get a reaction out of him was Golden Boy Grayson. And yet, here was this nameless kid, telling him about how Jason's death affected Batman.

"Seeing that was hard," Tim said, still remembering. "I came to the conclusion that Batman needed a Robin. Because he was unbalanced. He was..." Tim paused, searching for words. "Robin is the optimism, the lighthearted jokes, the adventures. Batman is the fear, the darkness. Without Robin, he almost lost himself to the darkness he tried to destroy."

"Poetic," Jason mumbled. But he didn't dismiss it. As shitty of a brother Grayson was, there was a sort of unspoken understanding between them – to keep Batman grounded. Jason knew as well as anyone that Bruce had a tendency to get absorbed into the crime fighting crusade, so much that he almost forgot who he was fighting for. And glancing over at Steph, his fellow former Robin (as annoying as _she_ was), he knew that she understood as well.

"My original plan was to get Nightwing to come back," Tim sighed. "I went to the trouble of tracking him down. I was planning to get him to come home and take up the Robin mantle again."

"Wait a sec," Steph cut in. "You met Nightwing before?"

"Once. I doubt he remembers it."

"No-Name, I'm pretty sure that even _Goldie_ would remember some kid asking him to be Robin again," Jason pointed out.

"Oh no, not that," Tim corrected. "When I was really young, like three or four years old? My parents took me to the circus. I was there the night his parents died."

Steph blinked. "Right."

"Why did you think I got so stuck on Robin in the first place?" Tim shrugged. "But yeah, I went to talk to him, but then I chickened out."

Steph resisted the urge to laugh. "You. Chickened out."

"Yeah, I already know I'm a coward," Tim snapped back.

"No, I mean –" Steph sniggered. "You, who wandered around Gotham's streets since before you hit puberty, who attempted to take out the ninja following Red Hood on your own, who singlehandedly discovered the identity of the most paranoid person on the planet, _chickened out._"

"Shut up, Batgirl," Tim snapped, but he was blushing.

"Wait – what's this about a _ninja_ following me?" Jason asked. "As in, Ra's al Ghul's ninjas? Is this why we're all tied up?"

"Get with the times, Hood," Steph replied. "You think I entered your territory _willingly?_ I was following one of al Ghul's tools, and ran into this brat, here."

"I'm not a brat!"

"Oh, shut _up_ Babybird, we all know you're a brat," Jason muttered.

Silence.

"_Babybird?_" Tim asked, offended. Despite the situation, Steph was giggling.

"What else am I supposed to call you?" Jason snapped, flushing underneath his helmet. "You don't have a codename I can make fun of, and you probably could've been Robin yourself if you didn't chicken out like a _baby._"

Tim stared, equal parts shocked and embarrassed, while Steph laughed.

"Okay, never mind how _weird _that sounds, just – don't call me that, okay?" Tim said.

"Don't tell me what to do, _Babybird,_" Jason hissed. "I'm glad we had this heart to heart, but we've got two former Robins and Oracle's protégé over here. Shouldn't we have escaped by now?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Steph grinned. She slipped her arms out, and the rope that tied her to the pole was ripped up and useless.

Tim and Jason stared at her.

"Hey, these ridges on my costume aren't just for show," she said, rolling her eyes at their disbelieving looks. She gestured to the spikes on her forearms. After freeing the two boys, they huddled together.

"Okay, here's the plan..."

* * *

Tim crouched behind the crates, desperately trying to keep his breathing even. Steph was somewhere in the rafters, determining where Ra's al Ghul's ninja disappeared to. Once she found him, she'd signal Jason, and the Red Hood would cause a distraction to get both Tim and Steph out of the warehouse.

Jason was itching for a chance to beat up the bastards who'd knocked him out. Since Steph was the fastest, it was her job to chase down the ninja. And Tim was to get out, re-establish a connection with Oracle, and get backup to free all the kidnapped children being held here.

Tim was invisible in his hiding place, but his one way out was blocked by a few patrolling guards.

He looked up. Steph was signaling something to Jason, who was hidden on the other side of the warehouse. Then she disappeared, probably chasing down the ninja guy.

The sound of a gunshot rang through the warehouse, and the guards rushed towards the noise. From his hiding spot, Tim could see Jason yelling obscenities and punching out a few of the guards. The ones blocking his exit route joined the fray.

_Alright. Now's my chance, _Tim thought. He kept an eye on Jason as he held the attention of the large group of angry men and took the opening. As quickly and as stealthily as he could, he slipped through behind the guards -

And promptly tripped on a paint can.

Heads whirled as the can clattered to the ground, making noises loud enough to wake the dead. Tim lay sprawled out on the ground, clutching his injured shoulder and muttering panicked curses under his breath.

"Damn it, Babybird!" Jason shouted, already pulling out his gun. "You had _one job!_"

"I told you not to call me that!" Tim yelled back, pulling out his bo staff.

This was going to get messy.

Taking a deep breath, he remembered his (admittedly short) training. Jab, block, strike – he flowed through the movements with only the occasional stumble. A sudden movement next to him caught his attention – Red Hood landed next to him, knocking out a guy with a knife. They shifted positions, covering each other's backs. It was awkward – sometimes Tim had to duck a swing Jason aimed at someone else, and occasionally he almost tripped the older man with his clumsy staff fighting, but it went better than he'd expected, especially with some sort of vigilante anti-hero he'd only officially met a mere hour and a half ago.

Someone's fist brushed against his shoulder, and Tim hissed in pain. Man, Oracle was going to _murder him_ when she found out about all the stupid decisions he'd made tonight.

Tim whapped a guy in the throat, and the guard fell to the ground, when Jason suddenly shouted.

"Go! I'll cover you!"

Tim knocked another body out of the way and made a break for it. Shouts of 'stop him' echoed through the warehouse. He began to zig-zag as the guards fired shots at him.

Tim took a sharp left, not really sure of where he was going. He knew the general area of the exit, and took random turns through the maze of shelving and abandoned shipping crates.

Left. Right. Left. Several times, Tim ended up doubling back and almost ran into the guards that were chasing him. The gap between Tim and his assailants was closing every time Tim took a wrong turn.

He took another right and groaned – another dead end. This was _so_ not his night.

The shouts were getting closer. Doubling back was no longer an option. Forcing himself to stay calm, he collapsed his bo staff and backed up from a crate. Tim took a deep breath.

The shouts got louder.

He sprinted towards the crate and leaped, straining to get a handhold. His hands closed around the edge of the crate. Grimacing, he pulled himself up, trying his best to ignore his screaming shoulder. Once he managed to get to the top of the crate, he rubbed his injury, hoping that it wasn't serious enough for his dad to notice.

The angry shouts behind him reminded Tim of what was at stake.

He leaped across the top of the crates, heading closer to the exit. Behind him, clanging sounds. So the guards were climbing up on top, too.

Shoving down his panic, Tim jumped off the crate and rolled – one of the first things he worked on with Cassandra was how to fall – and came up running. This time, he was much closer to the exit of the warehouse, and it only took two more turns until he found himself outside of the building and standing on the street.

As soon as he exited the warehouse, he glanced around wildly, trying to identify the area.

Oh, good. He knew where he was.

Some of the guards following him burst out of the warehouse, but Tim wasn't worried anymore. This was his _element._ With ease, he slipped into the Gotham's streets, taking turns and shortcuts that even Batman didn't know existed. He stuck to the shadows, using his small frame to his advantage as he twisted through the labyrinth that was Gotham's south side. Finally, once he'd lost the last of his tails, he made his way to the nearest phone booth and punched in Oracle's personal number.

One ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, Oracle," Tim said, with false cheer in his voice. "Batgirl and I solved your kidnapping case. The kids are being held in Reymond Electronic's old warehouse in the south side of the city."

"_Tim?_"

"Also, Red Hood was there, last I saw," Tim said. "You might want to give Batman a heads up."

"Tim, what – the _Red Hood_?"

"Batgirl's currently giving chase to a ninja," Tim continued. "Apparently the League of Assassins was the one backing up that little gang thing. Oh, and she needs a replacement for her earpiece."

A pause. Tim waited for Barbara to comprehend everything he just said.

"Thanks for the info," Barbara finally replied, her sarcasm evident even over the phone line. "Also, I've been putting it off, but you and I are going to have that 'mentors and students need to trust each other ' talk sometime soon. I'm fairly certain you're supposed to be sleeping in your house right now."

"Hey, I said I'd tell you if it got too big," Tim protested weakly.

"League of _Assassins _isn't big enough for you?" Babs replied. "I – never mind. Batman and Robin are on their way."

"Thanks for not biting my head off."

"Just you wait until you get your sorry ass back here," Barbara replied. "Try to not do anything else _too_ reckless until the backup arrives."

Tim flushed. "Can do."

The line cut. Tim hung the phone back on its hook and closed his eyes.

"So you really are Oracle's kid."

Tim spun around, his hand on his bo staff, and relaxed minutely when he say the Red Hood leaning on the side of the phone booth. Tim sighed and exited the booth.

"What, did you think I lied?"

Hood tilted his head appraisingly. "You kinda struck me as the Bat-type."

Tim kept silent. He wasn't sure if that was a compliment or an insult.

"So what's this about you being a 'creepy fanboy'?" Hood asked.

Tim recalled the scrapbook in his closet, dedicated to photos of the second Robin. "Let's just say that I know exactly who you are and who you used to be," Tim said vaguely.

"I gathered that from that conversation," Jason said, referring to their time spent tied to a pole.

"Todd." Tim said, not even caring for subtleties anymore. "I know who everyone else is, too, so don't feel special or anything."

"Really?" Jason asked, sounding genuinely curious. "How long?"

"Batgirl wasn't exaggerating when she said I've been running around Gotham since before I hit puberty."

Jason snorted. He moved his arms, and Tim tensed in preparation for a fight, but he only removed his helmet.

Tim stared. Jason Todd – dark hair, white streak and all, was gazing back at him.

"Oh _relax,_" Jason rolled his eyes. "I took out all those losers." He smirked. "Heh. That was fun."

"You didn't _kill_ them, did you?" Tim asked, taking a step back.

"Only two," Jason replied. "I figured, if Daddy Bats is gonna be on this case, might as well put up some effort."

An awkward pause. Tim wasn't really sure what he was expecting from Red Hood. A trigger-happy version of Robin II? An angry avenger? Jason was a bitter man, his humor darker and more sarcastic than it ever was as Robin. He shifted uncomfortably.

Jason's eyes narrowed. "Are you okay?"

"What?" Tim blinked, confused.

"Your shoulder," Jason said. "You've been favoring it since we all got tied up."

"You noticed?" Tim asked, absently reaching up to touch his injury.

"Kid, anyone with eyes would notice," Jason rolled his eyes. He reached into one of the pockets of his leather jacket and pulled out a small item. When Jason squeezed it, there was a cracking sound – and Tim realized that it was one of those instant ice packs.

"Here," Jason held it out. Tim's hand hovered above it, a suspicious gaze in his eyes.

"Why are you helping me?" He asked, still cautious.

Jason snorted. "Kid, I'm a murderer. I'm not _heartless._ Plus, Oracle will murder me if she finds out I didn't help you."

Tim grabbed the ice pack. "Thanks."

"See ya around, Babybird."

"Don't call me that," Tim scowled at the ridiculous nickname.

"Don't tell me what to do," Jason smirked. He replaced his red helmet, waved, and ran off, slipping away into the dark.

Tim clutched the ice pack, the cold seeping into his hands. Finally, he pulled off his hoodie and placed it on his injury. He moaned in relief. Oh, _God,_ that felt good.

When Batman and Robin finally showed up, Batgirl had already taken out the ninja. Oracle let him head home without stopping at her headquarters, but only because the sun was about to rise, and his dad didn't need to learn about his nighttime activities.

And after a long angry lecture (courtesy of Barbara), Dick and Steph ordered a bad movie marathon in celebration of a job well done. During the movies, Tim found himself glancing at the empty section of the couch, where in another universe, someone else would be occupying that space.

* * *

**A/N: AT LAST THIS BEAST IS CONQUERED. 6,000+ words - the longest chapter I've written in this 'verse so far. I stayed up till one last night finishing this because after weeks of nothing, I was suddenly hit with inspiration. Pro tip: when you've got writer's block, toss Stephanie Brown in. She solves everything.**

**I've always figured that, under different circumstances, Jason and Tim would've gotten along. In this universe, Tim isn't the Replacement, and he's not (heavily) associated with Bruce Wayne either, so there's that.**

**Also, the case that the Bats are working on makes no sense. Please ignore it, I needed _something_ to push this along. Also, does anyone know the origin of the 'Babybird' nickname? I see it everywhere, and I love it, but I have no idea where it comes from (oops).**

**Thanks for reading, and feel free to review or fav or whatnot. Also, go ahead and leave suggestions for Timmy's adventures. And also fake codename material, because I suck at coming up with names.**

**EDIT 28 May 2015: Fixed a typo. And I felt I should inform you that the case going on here might be continued. Someday. If I ever get around to it :p**

**-Lazuli Quetzal**


	4. Alliance

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Batman, or Red Robin, or DC comics, or any ideas concepts or characters mentioned in this story! I am a sixteen-year-old girl playing with fanfiction!**

**A/N: Someone asked for more Tim/Damian interaction. It's kinda short, but I think it's still sweet.**

* * *

_Tim pisses Jason off, breaks the Batmobile, and goes on a motorcycle ride with Damian. _

_Not necessarily in that order._

* * *

It was inevitable, perhaps. Throw Tim and Damian into the Batcave armed with various weapons, and you end up with a flat tire. It was like science. Or math.

It happened like this:

Tim stopped by the Batcave to go through a few old mission reports for Barbara. The work was monotonously easy and not requiring much focus. Which was good, because half of his attention was on keeping the resident Robin at bay with scathing insults and occasionally deflecting a batarang. Why Damian was in the Cave in the first place, Tim wasn't sure, but after nearly an hour of arguments it grew into a matter of pride for both of them. Neither would get up and leave the Cave. To do so would be admitting defeat.

Tim _was not _going to lose to a ten year old brat.

So they sat there, snarking and arguing, when Damian casually flicked another batarang in the direction of Tim's face.

With practiced ease (this had gone on for quite some time) the teenager lifted his bo staff just so, sending the projectile spinning off to one of the dark recesses of the cave.

"Are you done trying to kill me?" Tim asked irritably. He gestured to the reports he was attempting to read. "As you can see, I'm trying to get some work done."

"If I were trying to kill you, you'd be dead," Damian snapped back. "And if you loathe my company so much, you could just take those files and leave my house."

"One, Bruce has it set up so these files can't exit this room," Tim said offhandedly. "Two, I'm not leaving because of an annoying demon brat like you."

Damian crossed his arms. "This annoying 'demon brat' could kick your ass."

"Don't let Alfred hear you say that."

Damian snorted.

Tim glanced up from his work and studied Damian with a cautious expression. "Are you... bored?" he wondered aloud. He couldn't exactly think of a reason for Damian's presence in the first place.

Damian rolled his eyes. "Tt. Your presence bores me."

Yep, he was bored. Bruce was likely doing CEO things and as awesome as Alfred was, he probably couldn't satisfy Damian's need for action. The kid must have come down to pick a fight.

Tim turned back to his work. Damian flicked his eyes up, annoyed. He reached into his weapons belt.

"Don't throw that at me," Tim requested, but there was a warning note in his voice. He was losing patience. In all honesty, it was a miracle he lasted this long.

Damian's eyes narrowed. He threw the batarang.

Like lightning, Tim was on his feet, twirling his bo staff. He deflected the batarang, watching as it flew back towards Damian. The boy moved, though it was unnecessary - it landed at his feet.

"Do that again and it'll land somewhere worse," Tim threatened.

Damian grinned, as though he knew what buttons he was pressing and was getting exactly the reaction he hoped for. "You couldn't hit me if you tried."

It shouldn't have gotten under his skin, but Tim was feeling extra irritated today. "You want to find out?" Tim growled, knowing he was walking into Damian's trap and not particularly caring.

Damian smirked. "With pleasure."

In a heartbeat, they were a tangle of fists and weapons. Tim didn't hold back - he couldn't. Damian was trained by the finest assassins in the world, and Tim was a upper class kid with eight months of miscellaneous self defense training. He gave everything he got, even managing to land a solid whack on Damian's jaw with his staff, although the brat knocked the air out of him with a kick to his gut a few seconds later.

Within two minutes, Tim was kneeling on the ground, leaning on his staff, and trying to catch his breath. He could feel the new bruises forming across his body - thanks to the spawn from hell.

"Pathetic, Drake," Damian sneered, twirling a knife around his fingers. "I've seen petty muggers put up better fights than you."

"Now that's just rude," Tim choked out between breaths. He glanced up - just in time to see the throwing knife aimed for his shoulder.

Quickly, he brought up his staff, more reflex than a conscious action, The knife hit the solid metal, and with a resounding clang, it ricocheted off to his right - right towards the Batmobile.

Tim's eyes widened. The knife seemed to be moving in slow motion - up until it sank hilt deep into the front right wheel of Batman's vehicle of choice.

Oh _shit._

For a moment, the cave was completely still. Damian and Tim gazed at the knife stuck into the wheel with wide, horrified eyes.

And then - "Drake, you _imbecile!_"

"Me?! You're the one who threw that knife!"

"Clearly you're more useless than I thought if you don't know how to properly deflect a projectile!"

"You already beat me, you obviously didn't have to throw it! Why the hell are you trying to pin this on me?!"

Damian opened his mouth to retaliate when the sound of a door opening echoed throughout the Cave. Moving as a unit, Damian and Tim stood up and casually blocked the view of the deflating tire from the person on the stairs.

Bruce stood there, frowning as he saw them standing almost next to each other.

"...I trust you two are getting along?" he asked, not entirely sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Tim's expression was unnaturally blank. "We were, uh -"

"Sparring," Damian interrupted.

Bruce noted his son's disheveled appearance and a small cut on Tim's forearm.

He sighed. "Please don't hurt each other too badly."

Damian snorted. "As if Drake could injure me."

Partially to shut him up, and partially to keep up appearances, Tim jabbed his elbow into the soft spot of Damian's side. The boy winced and stomped on Tim's foot.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm going to be out of town for the next few hours, but I'll be back in time for patrol."

"Yes. Father."

"And speaking of patrol - Damian, prep the Batmobile for me. I'll be using it tonight."

Bruce turned around and exited the Cave with a heavy sigh, unable to see the panicked faces behind him.

"Of course, Father."

The door clicked shut.

"Damn it, Drake -"

"If you try and blame this on me _one_ more time, I _swear _-" Tim cut himself off and took a deep breath. "Never mind. Let's just get this over with. Where does Bruce keep the spare tire?"

Damian was silent for a moment. And then -

"We replaced a tire last week after an incident with Ivy. The tires are custom made and we have a few more on order."

Of _course _they did.

Tim closed his eyes, thinking hard. "Okay, then. Let's call up Jason, and -"

"Todd?" Damian frowned. "Why the hell would we call Todd?"

"You have heard the story of how he became Robin, right?" Tim asked. "He took the tires off the Batmobile. I bet he has a few tires just for nostalgia or whatever. At the very least, he could help us hijack the tire order or something."

Damian scowled. "I'm not asking _Todd _for help."

Tim crossed his arms. "You have a better idea?"

There was a pause as both of them stopped to think of what they could do.

Suddenly, Damian looked up - part mischief, part challenge. His grin was ferocious. Tim had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"We're going to steal from him."

"We don't actually know if he has a Batmobile tire or not," Tim pointed out. "That was just speculation."

"He has a motorcycle that uses the same tires," Damian explained. "I just remembered."

Tim face palmed. "Of _course_ he does," he groaned.

"Well, it's decided then. My plan is obviously superior," Damian announced. "Let's do it."

"What? No!" Tim protested. "We're not stealing from the Red Hood!"

"Are you a _coward?_" Damian asked, already heading to his Redbird.

"I _am_ a coward," Tim snapped. "Jason _kills_ people!"

"You just suggested asking him for help," Damian rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but asking him doesn't involve _breaking into his house and pissing off the dude with a bunch of guns._"

Damian pulled out a motorcycle helmet and looked up. He lifted an eyebrow. "Are you coming?"

Nope. Nope. Absolutely not.

_No way. _Tim was _not_ going to deal with this today.

* * *

"Why the fuck am I here?" Tim grumbled.

"Don't let Alfred hear you say that," Damian taunted even as he peered through the binoculars.

They were crouched up on a rooftop in view of one of the Red Hood's safe houses, one of the few that had a garage. Damian and Tim had declared a temporary truce - they'd get in, get the tires, and fix the Batmobile. Damian's Redbird (and how embarrassing is it to let the ten year old drive?) had a sidecar attached to fill with any tires or potentially useful crap they might manage to get from Jason's safe house.

And then afterwards, they would never speak of this incident ever again.

"The security system's pathetic," Damian commented. "Should be easy for you to get inside, if you learned anything from Oracle."

"I'm the one going in?" Tim asked, slightly annoyed at the insult but ignoring it in favor of the mission.

"You practiced stealth under Black Bat, did you not?" Damian asked.

If he didn't know any better that could almost be taken as a compliment. Except for the fact that this was definitely revenge for everything Tim had ever done to the kid, real or imagined.

"Fine," Tim conceded. "Wait with the Redbird near his garage. I might have to roll out the tire to you."

Damian scowled at the command, but nodded. Tim let out a breath and slipped down the side of the building, landing almost silently a few feet from the door. After a quick scan for motion detectors, which he easily slipped past, Tim got to work on picking the locks and cracking the codes to Jason's safe house. After a few moments, he made a quick hand signal to Damian who was still on the roof.

He was in.

Jason's apartment was both cleaner and and messier than Tim expected. The kitchen was completely organized, and the floors were swept, although that could be attributed to the fact that Red Hood switched safe houses a lot and probably didn't come here often. Except…

Clothes were haphazardly littered across the floors. Frowning, Tim checked the living room. A pair of black combat boots were strewn across the coffee table, along with an empty Coca-Cola can.

Tim resisted the urge to groan. Of _course_ he was home. Could this day get any worse?

After locking the door behind him, Tim slipped through the house as silently as he could. He glanced at the doors. One of them had a deadbolt lock on it, although it was unlocked.

Tim opened it. Oh good - he found the garage.

Tim went inside and immediately started searching. It was fairly empty, with cabinets on the sides and a motorcycle in the middle of the room. The only things Tim came across in the cabinets were a generic toolbox and some wiring stuff. He frowned when he came across a cabinet filled entirely with guns.

_I'm a murderer, I'm not heartless._

Tim returned to looking for tires. He checked under a few tables, behind the water heater, and behind the cabinets before he finally looked up and saw a tire wedged between a cabinet and the ceiling.

_Please be the right tire._ Tim grabbed a convenient step stool and reached up. It was heavy - it took a good amount of shaking and cursing to get it off of the top of the cabinet. Tim managed to dislodge it completely and everything was going well.

Until he lost his balance and landed on his butt. There was a heavy crash as the tire hit a cabinet, sending all the tools flying in every direction.

The distant sound of Jason cursing and getting out of bed shocked Tim into action.

With a quick glance at the tire (oh thank _God,_ it's the correct one) he slammed his hand on the garage door opener and rolled it out into the driveway.

"What the hell?" Damian asked. "What happened to stealth-"

Tim shoved the tire into the sidecar, grabbed his helmet, and hopped on the back of the motorcycle. "Drive drive drive!"

The garage door burst open. Tim had a blurry glance at a disheveled looking Jason Todd before Damian revved the motorcycle. They sped through the streets, leaving Jason in the dust.

Or so they thought.

Tim twisted his head around and flinched. Jason was on his own motorcycle, a few hundred feet away and getting closer.

"Damn it," Tim hissed.

"Once again -" Damian began, and Tim could hear the sneer without even looking at the brat's face.

Tim cut him off. "I _know_! It's my fault! Drive!"

Damian pulled a sharp left turn. Tim checked - the tire was still in the sidecar. He turned around again, and Jason was still on their tail.

Jason yelled something that Tim couldn't hear, thanks to the roar of the wind in his ears. He probably didn't want to hear it anyway.

Damian did his best, speeding through the noontime traffic and taking the twistiest path he could. But Jason was taught by Batman, too, and he kept on their tail the whole time. Tim scanned the road ahead, desperately searching for shortcuts.

His eyes landed on a side street, a few hundred feet away.

"Take a right over there!" Tim yelled in Damian's ear.

"Right? That's a dead end alleyway!" Damian protested.

"I've been running through Gotham since you were in diapers," Tim snapped. "Right!"

"I can't believe I'm listening to the imbecile," Damian muttered. He took the turn.

The alley was a dead end - ending in a brick wall five feet high that no motorcycle could burst through, but Tim knew what he was doing. As Damian drove, he pulled out his staff and held it out like a lance. The staff toppled over a thick plywood board leaning against a dumpster. It fell out in front of them, creating a makeshift ramp.

Tim could hear Jason's motorcycle behind them. "Go!"

Damian didn't argue. He sped onto the ramp. Tim winced as the board cracked underneath the weight of the motorcycle, but Damian only pressed harder - and suddenly they were over the wall, clumsily landing on an empty street and speeding off toward Wayne Manor.

As they drove away, Tim turned around. Jason was not behind them. The ramp probably broke under the weight of the other man's motorcycle.

"How'd you know that board was there?" Damian asked.

"I set it up just in case," Tim said.

It had actually been there since before he got tangled up with Oracle. Just in case he needed to make a quick getaway on his skateboard. Or motorcycle, apparently.

"You think Bruce is back yet?" Tim wondered aloud.

"He'd better not be," Damian muttered. "He threatened to ground me if he caught me sneaking out one more time."

Despite himself, Tim laughed. The idea of Batman grounding Robin was just too ludicrous to comprehend.

Damian swerved unexpectedly. Tim had to grasp the sides of the motorcycle to keep from falling off. He shut up.

Yes, he did know how to take a hint.

* * *

After they replaced the ruined tire, Tim left. He didn't see Damian again until three days later, when he was sitting on the edge of a rooftop, going through his camera.

He tensed when he caught the sound of a cape flapping through the wind, and he didn't relax even when he recognized the figure.

Tim never let his guard down around Damian. To him, the kid seemed ready to snap at any moment.

"So you're not grounded, huh?" Tim asked casually.

"No," Damian replied. "Batman did not discover our unfortunate… escapade."

"Good," Tim said. He'd heard Bruce and Barbara argue before. He didn't know how his mentor even found the courage to yell in the Dark Knight's stone cold face. He didn't want to be subjected to that.

There was a silence, though Tim hesitated to call it awkward. But it definitely wasn't comfortable.

"Uh, good driving," Tim spoke up. "With the motorcycle."

Damian glared at him through his domino mask. "Don't act all Nightwing with me."

Tim screwed up his face in disgust. He didn't understand how Dick could be so friendly and outgoing all the time. Even with the Demon Spawn, of all people. "_Never._"

"I'm here to inform you that the truce we enacted during the incident is now over," Damian informed him.

"What incident?" Tim replied automatically.

"Of course," Damian nodded. He turned away, getting ready to leap off the roof and grapple his way across Gotham. Tim turned back to his camera.

"Be careful," he said absently. It was what he said to Steph whenever she ran off to do Batgirl things in the middle of class.

Behind him, Damian stiffened. He wasn't expecting that from _Drake_. He turned to shoot the teen with a confused glare, but Tim was oblivious as he sorted through his photos.

"Drake," Damian said suddenly.

Tim glanced up.

Damian paused, his face unreadable. "Try not to do anything stupid tonight," he said, finally. And then, in a flash of yellow and red and green, he was gone.

Coming from Damian, that was about the equivalent of a hug. Tim stared, watching Robin as he flew away, ready to take on Gotham.

Damian was a little shit, but he did have _some _semblance of a human personality, Tim decided.

* * *

After sending his son to bed, Bruce came down into the living room, where Alfred was sitting with two cups of tea.

Alfred handed him one and Bruce took it gratefully.

"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce said.

"Of course, Master Bruce," Alfred replied, almost humming.

There was a pause. "For the idea, too," he added. "I wasn't sure it would actually work."

Alfred lifted an eyebrow.

"Of course, your plans always work," Bruce said somewhat sheepishly.

"I found it quite amusing that both Damian and Tim thought you didn't have backup tires," Alfred said, as he sipped his own cup of tea.

Bruce snorted. "You'd think they'd find it suspicious that I wasn't prepared with a spare."

"I suppose their fear of punishment overrode their sense of logic," Alfred commented. "They could get along quite well, if they tried."

Bruce grinned. "Get along? Maybe not. But they'd make one hell of a team. Did you know that Tim covered up the footage of the fight and of fixing the tire? He edited in a video of an empty Cave. If I didn't know what happened, I never would've found out."

"Damian was quite thorough, as well," Alfred said. "He even went the extra mile to make the tire look about as worn down as the others."

"That's my boy," Bruce said, a proud tone in his voice. "Although, he definitely won't be working any cases in Jason's territory anytime soon."

"No, I suppose not," Alfred agreed. "And I suppose we'll have to send a spare tire to Master Jason."

Bruce sighed and placed his head in his hands. "Yes," he said. "I suppose we do."

* * *

**A/N: I have a codename for Tim! And it's _perfect, _IMO. I have a chapter in the works of how he ends up getting his name but I took a break from that to get this idea out. Likely, "Nomenclature" is going to be the next chapter, although it might end up being the one after that.**

**Thanks for the kind reviews, everyone! I won't be bothering too much with comic continuity and I'll mostly be focusing on the central Batfam, but a few other characters might make appearances.**

**As always, reviews are appreciated!**

**-Lazuli Quetzal**


	5. Nomenclature

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Batman, or Red Robin, or DC comics, or any ideas concepts or characters mentioned in this story! I am a sixteen-year-old girl playing with fanfiction!**

**A/N: Two updates in one month? What the heck?**

**This one's written scene style, because I suck at making cohesive stories.**

* * *

_Inspiration, it turns out, hits you on the brink of death._

* * *

1.

It'd been a year since Tim's life turned upside-down, and he _still_ didn't have an official name.

It'd gotten to the point that he actually responded to the word 'Fanboy' now. Babs promised him that his name in the mission reports was just an anagram of his name that doesn't actually mean anything, but Tim was certain that she referred to him as the 'Nerd' even in the official files. Unfortunately, as proficient as he was in hacking, Barbara was still better. He couldn't actually hack into the files and find proof.

Dick and Jason insisted on calling him Babybird – Tim almost murdered Steph when she told Nightwing about their run-in with the Red Hood – Damian either called him 'Drake' or 'Useless' or some other variation, and Bruce and Cass simply called him 'T' when names weren't allowed.

It was a system that worked. But the lack of a proper codename bothered Tim. Everyone else had a place, their own standing in the Bat-family. Tim was just a little boy with a camera, anonymous and invisible. An observer. An outsider.

He was contemplating these things while browsing the web at his house. Suddenly, a knock on the door startled him out of his laziness. He sighed, stretched, and walked to the door. It was probably Dick, ready to whisk him off for some other adventure.

He opened the door and froze. A tall, _very _intimidating man in a black suit was standing right in front of him. The man's dark sunglasses made it impossible to see his eyes. And it wasn't anyone he recognized.

Oh, _crap._

"Timothy Drake, I presume?" the man asked, his deep gravelly voice startling Tim out of his fear.

"Um, yeah. That's me."

Was this guy from the government or something? Tim was suddenly aware that his hair was messier than Red Hood's on a bad day. And that he was wearing _boxers _instead of pants. He wasn't exactly planning for company on Saturday, and definitely not for some secret agent dude.

But as he looked closer, Tim knew this guy was _not_ with the government. There were scars across the man's knuckles, the hint of a tattoo creeping up his neck, the faint smell of gunpowder underneath the man's cologne. If Tim looked hard enough, he could count at _least_ three hidden weapons on the guy.

"May I come in?" The man asked.

"Sure, sure," Tim squeaked, stepping aside to allow the man room to pass. Internally, he cursed himself. _Why would you do that why is that a good idea –_

Tim stiffly led him to the kitchen table. He scooped up all the used dishes he'd left lying there and stuffed them into the sink. "Have a seat, Mr...?"

"Thank you," the man said, taking a seat. The fact that he didn't reveal his name did not go unnoticed.

"May I ask why you're here?" Tim asked. His voice, despite his fear, was smooth ( Steph and Babs helped him practice sounding confident in the face of danger). Unfortunately, he couldn't quite keep himself from fidgeting his hands.

"I don't suppose you've heard of the recent LexCorp scandal?" The man asked.

Tim's mind blanked. The only think he could think was _shitshitshitshitshit – _because Tim _caused _the LexCorp scandal. He'd snuck in, planted a few viruses, copied a few files, and 'accidentally' let the media get a hold of a few covered-up secrets. Was this guy with Luthor? Was this guy going to kidnap him? Was he going to _die?_

Outwardly, he said, "I've seen it on the news."

"The anonymous hacker that leaked the information," the man continued.

_He knows he knows he knows he knows–_

"This was not their first operation."

_I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead –_

"This hacker has also flushed out several underground gangs, secret societies, and exposed dark secrets about high-profile citizens of Gotham," the man said.

"And what does this hacker have to do with me?" Tim asked. Was this guy even looking at him? He couldn't tell with those blackout sunglasses.

"I understand you work in cyber security for Wayne Enterprises?"

"I'm only an intern there," Tim said, clamping down the urge to twiddle his thumbs. The internship was mostly just a cover so that Barbara can teach Tim fancy computer skills, but he also brought coffee to the IT people sometimes.

"I'm aware that you show a lot of promise."

"They said that?"

The man kept up his unreadable expression. "Wayne Enterprises is one of the few companies not hit by this hacker."

Tim shrugged. "The head of cyber security is good at his job."

"He's also in Wayne's pocket," the man said. "You, however, are not."

Tim narrowed his eyes. "Are you trying to get me to sabotage the security at W.E?"

"No," the man said. He slid an envelope across the table. "I'm trying to hire you."

…

_What._

"You realize I'm only an intern, right?" Tim asked, eyeing the envelope but not picking it up. "I don't actually work with building up all those defenses and stuff."

"But you know how to do so," the man pointed out.

"Yes," Tim said slowly. He had to tread carefully here. He couldn't tell how much this guy knew.

"My boss is likely to be a target for this hacker in the near future," the man explained. "If the hacker decides to turn their gaze upon us, my boss fears we won't have the defenses to keep them out."

If this person was likely to be a target, then they were likely doing something illegal. Or at least semi-illegal. And they wanted Tim, a lowly intern, because he wasn't getting paid by Wayne Enterprises, and he didn't have any obvious loyalties to anyone. Except for the fact he was Oracle's sort of protegé, which this group of people were _hopefully_ ignorant to.

"Who's your boss?" Tim asked.

"Not important."

Yep, definitely illegal.

"I suppose I'm not allowed to ask questions," Tim said quietly.

The man didn't answer.

"Can – can I have time to think about it?" Tim asked.

"One day," the man said. He stood up. "I expect to have an answer by this time tomorrow."

The way he said it, it sounded more like a threat.

"Of course," Tim said, not able to stop the tiny hint of fear from leaking into his voice.

Tim led the man to the door. Once he was out of the house, he snuck over to the window and watched the guy get into a small, tan colored sedan with tinted windows. Then he left.

Tim didn't breathe until the car was out of sight.

.o.O.o.

"You want Tim to do _what?!_"

"Accept," Bruce said calmly.

Barbara's eyes flashed; her knuckles white from clenching the arms of her wheelchair. "You can't let him do this!" she nearly shrieked. "To go into – into this _gang_ and play IT for them! He'll be found out!"

"We need him to do this," Bruce said. "Ever since the Black Mask escaped from Arkham, he's been laying low. We've had almost no leads on him. If Tim can get us information, it would prove invaluble."

"_If_ Tim can get us information," Barbara countered. She shot an apologetic look towards Tim. "I know you're good, but this is _way _over your head. No offense."

"None taken," Tim said, eyes darting back and forth between Bruce and Barbara. In his hands was the envelope he received from the mystery man. The information he and Barbara gleaned from the envelope was small, but they still managed to identify the potential employer: Black Mask.

"Tim," Bruce said, ignoring Barbara's shout of frustration. "Black Mask has had to rebuild his underground empire from scratch. It would be much safer to take him out this early in the game."

"Yeah, but what if this is just a ploy and they know I'm the hacker?" Tim asked.

"Black Bat would be able to bail you out."

Which was completely true. Cass could probably protect all of Bludhaven single-handedly.

"Okay, that's all well and good, but what if he gets found out in the _middle_ of this thing?" Barbara demanded. "_If_ he does this, he'll have to go in without communication. They'd definitely check him for any comms."

"It's Tim's choice. Will you take the risk?"

Tim thought. "If I accept it... I won't be able to have any contact with you guys until it's over," he said, realizing this.

"Yes," Bruce agreed. "They'll likely be following you. You wouldn't be able to participate in your usual patrols. However, you'll be able to stay in contact with Stephanie, since you sit next to each other in school."

Ah, yes. Chemistry lectures and vigilantism – two things he and Batgirl had in common.

Barbara bit her lip while gazing at Tim. She seemed like she wanted to argue, but held her tongue.

"Someone else would have to play my role, then," Tim said. "If the hacker suddenly disappears while I'm with them..."

"Oracle and Batgirl can work it into their usual jobs," Bruce said, glancing at Barbara for confirmation.

"Yes," Barbara gritted out. "We could. But Tim – you have choices. You don't have to do this."

No, he didn't. But Tim was quite familiar with doing things out of his comfort zone in order to keep his city safe. He didn't have to track down Dick Grayson. He didn't have to arrange Stephanie's and Bruce's first meetings.

He didn't have to go undercover and break open Gotham's underground from the inside, but he knew what his answer would be.

"Sorry, Babs," he said quietly.

* * *

2.

Tim took to computers and coding like a bird to the sky, but shadowed buildings and dark alleys were where he felt most comfortable. He knew Gotham the way a virtuoso knew a violin; every nick and crack, every sidewalk and rooftop was familiar to him. Nine years of sneaking through these streets taught him the routes to follow, the shortcuts to take, the places to avoid.

And everything he'd picked up about the city screamed at him to get out of this building. Yet, here he was.

Tim hadn't actually laid eyes on the Black Mask, but he did get access to the guy's files. For obvious reasons, he couldn't just take the information and run – that would be suicide. But he couldn't just send it all to Barbara, either. Tim was rather dismayed to learn he wasn't the only computer guy hired by the False Facers. Various other nerds were there, poking holes in the computer's defenses and patching it up.

If Tim was going to do this, he'd have to leave imperceptible cracks in the code, messages only Barbara could understand. But he wasn't allowed to talk to Barbara. He wasn't sure if he could do this.

If only undercover work was as easy as trailing the Batman.

* * *

3.

Steph handed Tim a small thermos as he plopped down into his seat, looking exhausted.

He sipped it. "Thanks," he said.

"No problem, Timmy," Steph smiled at him, though there was concern in her eyes.

"They're planning to off this guy," Tim said, casually slipping a scrap of paper into Steph's hand.

Steph placed it in her pocket without looking at it. She'd have to go over it with Barbara tonight.

Tim turned his attention to his notes, but Steph kept staring at him. She took in the messy clothes, the dark circles under his eyes. He kept flicking his eyes around the classroom, as though his mind were a million miles away.

This whole undercover thing was a bad idea.

But she had to admit – he was doing really well. The intel he'd managed to slip them was crucial. Tim was good at picking out the least amount of information to get the job done. Still, every time he did so, the chances of him getting caught were increasing.

For almost three months, Tim had been engineering a virus that would cripple the False Facers gang once and for all. And he'd had to do it with minimal assistance. Steph didn't know the details, but she had faith that he could do it. He only needed time...

The class went on. Steph tried to pay attention the lecture, but her focus kept slipping. It didn't help that Tim was equally distracted. His leg was bouncing up and down, and his handwriting was slightly shakier than normal.

Someone knocked a pencil off their desk, and Tim jumped at the sound.

"Tim," Steph whispered silently, and his eyes flicked towards her.

"Get some rest tonight, okay?"

Tim smiled, but it seemed forced. Steph made a mental note to never ever accept an undercover mission.

"Steph," Tim said suddenly, his tone suddenly serious and somber.

"Yeah?"

"I... uh. Um." He paused and sipped the coffee she'd given him, clearing his throat. "Just. Uh..." He paused, searching for words. Finally, he shook his head. "Just keep an eye out," he finished lamely.

"I will," Steph reassured him. "Take care of yourself."

"I always do," Tim teased, but he seemed more distracted than anything else.

.o.O.o.

"This is from the Nerd." Steph handed Barbara the slip of paper she'd received earlier that day. Babs snatched it up, her eyes darting across the words.

"It's a name and a time." Barbara observed.

"They're planning to kill this guy tonight," Steph said.

Barbara frowned. "I recognize this name."

Steph blinked in surprise. "Seth Villafano? You know him or something?"

Barbara shook her head. "I've seen his name before," she grumbled. "But I can't remember where. Look him up, will you?"

Steph did so, typing the name into Barbara's computer. The usual popped up – medical records, paper trails, address, phones, basic family history. Nothing out of the ordinary, which was in itself strange.

Barbara gazed at the information, wracking her brains. "Where did I hear of this guy before?" she asked, rubbing her chin. "It's important. I know it is."

"I'm sure you'll think of it later," Steph said. "For now, I gotta get the Big Guy and make sure this dude doesn't die tonight."

"Keep the camera on," Barbara reminded Steph.

Steph grinned. "I always do!" With that, she ran out of Oracle's basement and traveled out to get Bruce.

It wasn't hard to find him – he'd only started patrol recently, and he wasn't far from where she thought he'd be. Steph plopped down next to the man, falling into a familiar posture, the same one she'd adopted back when she was Robin.

"Batgirl," he acknowledged her.

"T's got a name," Steph informed him. "A guy scheduled to die."

Batman was impassive. "Well?"

"Seth Villafano."

She wasn't expecting a reaction out of the normally stoic Bat. She blinked as Batman turned his head up in surprise.

"Villafano?" he asked, sounding a bit more Bruce than Batman.

"Yep," Steph said, watching him carefully. "Oracle said she recognized the name, too. What's going on? Who is he?"

Batman didn't answer as he pulled out a grappling hook. He shot it out and swept away. Steph rolled her eyes and followed. The guy really needed to lighten up.

Oracle sent them the guy's address as they flew through the air. Luckily, it was a neighborhood familiar to both of them. They changed direction mid-flight.

It took a few minutes to catch up with Batman, and by that time they were nearing the address of the target. Steph switched to stealth mode – landing silently next to him. From their position, they had a good view of the apartment building and all the entrances.

By the look on Batman's face, Steph knew she wouldn't get an answer to her question. Why was this guy so frustrating?

With a few hand signals, they spread out to cover different sections of the areas surrounding the building. Steph kept on alert for any movements or strange people. She often peeked through the window to make sure the Seth guy was still there.

Her comm crackled in her ear.

"Oh my God, oh my God," Barbara was saying, her voice high pitched and shaky.

Steph tensed and glanced around to make sure she was alone. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

"This guy. I remember his name now," Barbara said breathlessly. "He's one of the other guys the Black Mask hired to work on their cyber security."

Steph blinked. "What –?"

A blur of black caught her eye. Batman darted across the edges of her vision. Steph leaped into action, following his movements, and swiftly taking down a would-be assassin.

It was a quick fight. Batman and Batgirl stood over the man, who was still disoriented from how quickly they took him down.

As Batman grilled the guy, Steph turned her attention to the apartment window. The light was off. Feeling apprehensive, she climbed up to get a better view.

A body was lying on the bed. She waited a few moments.

Yep, it was breathing.

"This is the guy, right O?" she asked quietly, knowing Barbara could see through the camera in her mask.

"Yeah, that's him," Oracle replied. "Still alive. Good."

"You said that he's another IT guy for the Black Mask."

"Yes."

Steph bit her lip. "And what does that mean for Tim?"

There was a pause. For a second, Steph thought that Babs was just going to ignore her question, but then she caught the soft-spoken reply.

"Nothing good."

* * *

4.

Out of the original six IT guys hired by the Black Mask, only three remained. No one questioned what happened to the other three.

No one had to.

Tim was growing more and more paranoid by the minute. He, Alec, and Maria didn't even talk anymore. They weren't sure what had the other three had done to get themselves offed. They didn't want to bring suspicion down on themselves.

(Tim knew that Seth Villafano was alive, but it wasn't exactly information he could share without getting killed himself.)

It was horrible, because even though all these other hackers were supporting one of the worst crime bosses in all of Gotham, Tim was… friends with them. He and Maria hit it off almost immediately, and once they got Alec out of his shell, they formed a friendship despite the unfortunate circumstances.

Maria took the job for money to support her family in Mexico. Alec was using it to help out with his little sister's college fund. They were ordinary people, with lives and family and then they just happened to be hired by Black Mask.

Tim bit his lip as he flicked through lines of code. The cyber security for Black Mask was good, very good, but Tim helped build it. There were holes. Holes he would have to exploit a few weeks ahead of schedule, because he was running out of time.

Involuntarily, his eyes flicked to Alec and Maria, who were doing their own thing with the systems. Could he bring down Black Mask without ruining their lives, too? Would Black Mask blame them? Would they be killed?

If it came down to that choice, between ending a crime boss and keeping his new friends safe, he knew exactly what he would do. Which was why he hoped it didn't come down to that.

* * *

5.

"Tim's doing _what?!_" Dick yelled.

Bruce's face was impassive as he typed some commands into his computer. "He's doing a good job."

"Good job? That's all you can say?!" Dick shouted, wringing his hands through his hair. "You helped train him so that he could be safe, not so that he could -" he waved his hands around, trying to articulate. "Bruce, he's not like me. Or Steph, or Damian. He hasn't trained his whole life for crap like this!"

"Which is exactly why he's perfect for this job," Bruce said, not looking at his eldest son. "Although he's not a civilian, he hasn't been doing it for as long as you have. He doesn't have any habits that will raise alarms."

"Habits that would be keeping him safe if he had them," Dick growled.

"I gave Tim a choice," Bruce pointed out. "He accepted."

"You know Tim would accept!" Dick said, waving his arms around. "He's just like you in all the wrong ways!"

Bruce lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"

Dick glared at Bruce and clenched his fists. "You're throwing him into a grave," he hissed.

"I trust him," Bruce said.

"_I_ trust him, but that doesn't mean I'll toss him in with _Black Mask_ without any _backup!_"

"He's independent. He can handle this. I know he can."

Dick's knuckles were white with strain. "You said that about Jason, too!" he yelled.

Silence.

Bruce stood over the keyboard, hands still.

Dick's eyes widened, and he clapped his hand over his mouth. "I -" he choked out, his voice cracking. "Oh my God, Bruce, I didn't mean…"

"Tim will be fine," Bruce said, with just the tiniest of quivers in his voice. "He's… he's not like Jason, either. He won't take any… unnecessary risks."

"Bruce," Dick pleaded. "I…"

Bruce's eyes wandered over to the memorial case. Jason's Robin costume stood tall and untarnished. Untouched.

_Never again._

"Tim can handle it," he repeated. He wasn't sure if he was talking to Dick, or to himself.

* * *

6.

Tim stood over the computer, anxiously waiting for his creation to get into the system and do its thing. His eyes darted between the screen displaying its progress and the screen displaying a view of the security camera right outside the hastily barricaded door. No one had shown up yet, which was good. Unfortunately, his virus probably put the whole building on lockdown.

Batman and the Black Bat were hanging around the rooftops nearby. As soon as he was finished, he'd take the route they'd planned out beforehand and meet up with them outside. With any luck, he wouldn't run into anyone.

A movement on the screen caught his eye.

Luck was not on his side, it seemed.

Tim flinched as the door shook in its frame. He glanced at the security feed and blinked. The Black Mask himself had come to off him. Tim's eyes darted back to the other screen. He only needed two more minutes...

The sound of splintering wood startled him out of his worries, and he dove to his right. A fist punched through the door.

Tim scrambled away from the door, and suddenly he was staring into the eyes of a black skull.

"You!" Black Mask growled. He raised his gun.

Tim rolled, three bullets landing in his previous location. Hastily, he punched the button on his communicator. Bruce and Cass could be here in forty seconds. He just had to survive for that long.

"You wrecked my empire!" Black Mask yelled, firing off another bullet. "You're the hacker!"

Tim yelped as he tripped over some pieces of the broken door. He rolled to his right, a bullet passing through his left shoulder.

He hissed even as he backed away from the angry gang leader. His mind raced. What would Dick do in this situation?

Stall, probably.

"Nice shooting," Tim stammered out, not even bothering to police his words.

It wasn't the right thing to say.

Tim was forced to dive to the left, another bullet clipping a lock of his hair. He rolled and came up on his feet – backed into a corner.

_Stall, _He thought. Are there certain buttons one has to press to get villains to monologue, or do they do it on their own?

"Even now, you're wreaking havoc on my network," Black Mask sneered, observing the computer monitor. "Impressive. I've suspected a traitor for a while, now. I didn't expect it to be _you._"

"I'm slightly offended," Tim managed to say without stammering.

"I don't understand," Black Mask said. "You're a boring ass student with no life. What's your motivation? Is someone paying you to do this? Because I could offer you _far_ more."

Twenty seconds before Bruce and Cass showed up.

"Do I need a reason?" Tim asked.

The man snorted. "Kid, people just don't risk their lives over nothing," he growled. "Why would a deadbeat college kid like you hack into the most well-protected companies on the East Coast for nothing? Unless..."

Tim gulped.

The Black Mask's grip on his gun tightened. "You're with _him._ You're a _Bat._"

"Bat? As in the _Batman?_" Tim asked, not taking his eyes off the gun.

"Yes, as in _the Batman,_" he growled. "You're working with him! He sent you!"

The gun lowered slightly, and Tim blinked in confusion.

"Of course he would," Black Mask said, his voice sounding odd. "Damn him! Sending a living virus to tear me down!"

He raised the gun, sounding even more furious.

How much time had passed? The fear ruined Tim's sense of time. Bruce and Cass should be showing up any minute now...

A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision made him grin. He let out a relieved chuckle. Bruce and Cass were here. He was saved.

And somewhere between adrenaline and trying to keep Black Mask talking and not shooting, he came up with the perfect codename.

"What are you grinning about?" Black Mask snapped.

"You're right," Tim smirked, knowing full well this was a cheesy pun that Black Mask probably wouldn't get, but he couldn't resist.

Dick would be so proud.

"I am a virus," Tim said. "You just downloaded the _Trojan Horse_, asshole!"

Black Mask blinked in confusion. Tim mentally sighed - was he going to have to explain it, seriously? - when the sound of breaking glass startled him. Behind the Black Mask, two imposing figures stood. With the element of surprise on their side, it was a quick and one-sided fight. Within a minute, the Black Mask was unconscious and tied up, ready to be taken to Arkham.

"He didn't get it," Tim said, feeling slightly dizzy. That was the closest he'd ever been to dying.

Being murdered.

"Did not get what?" Cass asked, turning to him.

"The name," Tim said. He'd never felt so terrified and giddy in his life. "Oh God, I'm alive."

"Yes, you are," Bruce said. "Let's get you out of here, T."

"Trojan Horse," Tim corrected, with a gleeful grin. He glanced down at himself. "Oh. I'm bleeding."

He remembered getting shot in the shoulder. What was it with him and shoulder wounds?

"You'll be fine," Bruce said, picking up up. "Let's go."

That was the last thing he remembered before blacking out.

* * *

7.

"It's a stupid name," Steph informed him.

Tim frowned, offended. "It's _genius_, excuse you. You're just jealous. Besides, you've never had to come up with your own name. Robin and Batgirl were already there."

"'Spoiler' is _way_ cooler than 'Trojan Horse'," Steph declared, reminding him of her humble beginnings on the street. "What a _mouthful_."

"But it's so _perfect_!" Tim said with a ridiculous smile on his face. "It's mythology reference _and_ a technology reference. At the _same time_! And you can shorten it to Trojan, which is just awesome!"

Steph laughed at Tim's enthusiasm. "Or you could shorten it to Horse. Not nearly as awesome."

"Like I said," Tim said, waggling his eyebrows. "Jealous."

"I can't believe it took you over a year to come up with that."

"And how long exactly did it take for you to come up with Spoiler, hmm?"

Steph stuck her tongue out at Tim. Spoiler was a dream of hers that she'd had for forever. It took her years to work up the courage to do the vigilante thing to stop her dad, but the persona had been in the works for a long time.

"I'm glad you're okay, Tim," she said, changing the subject. "You were getting pretty -" she paused, searching for words. "Ah. Stressed?"

"Stressed doesn't even _begin_ to cover it," Tim muttered. "I'm never doing that again."

Steph's eyes flicked over to his shoulder, still wrapped in bandages. It was healing nicely, and she'd seen worse, but...

Steph hated reminders that they all were mortal. That they all could get hurt. She knew the risks of their lifestyle, but sometimes the truth didn't fully hit her until times like these.

She checked her watch. "I'd better go," she said. "Have to get prepped for patrol."

"Patrol," Tim said longingly. "I haven't been out since before this whole undercover thing! And Babs won't let me go!"

"Because you got shot in the shoulder?" she reminded him. "We've all been benched before. You'll just have to deal with it."

"I never had to be benched when I was doing this on my own," he muttered.

Steph rolled her eyes and smiled. "You were also way more pathetic than you are now, and that's saying something."

Tim grinned at her. "Stay safe," Tim said. "Hopefully, I'll be back in action in a week."

Steph grinned and patted Tim on his uninjured shoulder. "I'm looking forward to it, Trojan."

* * *

**A/N: I laugh because only Tim can come up with such a nerdy name.**

**(I mean, Red Robin? Talk about creativity.)**

**If you haven't heard of the mythical tale of the Trojan War, do yourself a favor and read it. It starts off great, it ends great, (and if you're Odysseus, it never really ends at all :D).**

**Metaphorically, a Trojan Horse is basically anything that seems harmless but actually has malicious intentions. Like a certain scrawny photographer who will bring down your entire drug trade.**

**And computer-wise, a Trojan Horse virus presents itself as a harmless or helpful program that you end up clicking, but then it wreaks havoc upon your computer. Totally not speaking from experience, hahaha. Ha.**

**I'm also creating a table of contents, arranged in chronological order, on my profile, because after this chapter my ideas start jumping around in time. Figured it'd be useful.**

**Reviews are always appreciated! Leave suggestions for future chapters! Thanks for being so supportive, you guys!**

**-Lazuli Quetzal**


	6. Ascension

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Batman, or Red Robin, or DC comics, or any ideas concepts or characters mentioned in this story! I am a sixteen-year-old girl playing with fanfiction!**

**A/N: Stephanie Brown is literally one of my favorite characters of all time. And I've said before that I usually end up writing her when I have a block, so.**

**Note: This takes place pre-Origin.**

* * *

_Stephanie Brown is about to embark on the biggest adventure of her life._

* * *

Deep breaths. Breathe in, breathe out. In, and out.

_I can do this,_ she thought, gazing at her reflection in the mirror.

A figure clothed in eggplant gazed back at her. Her face was invisible beneath the large hood; a black toolbelt was around her waist; her feet covered in a pair of her mother's old boots. She had to do this.

She had to stop her dad.

Stephanie climbed up onto her windowsill, careful not to make noise. She looked down at the street. The ground looked so far away…

She steeled herself. She needed to do this. Just one step.

She jumped.

Steph hit the ground with a jarring crash, kneeling clumsily on the ground. Luckily, she didn't land on her ankles.

_No turning back._

With renewed vigor, she made her way over to a fire escape a few buildings over and hit the roofs. Steph had been studying aerial maps of Gotham for a long time. She knew where she was going. She had to.

A figure in purple darted across the rooftops. Its actions were not as practiced as Batman's, or as graceful as the absent Robin's, but it made do. Determination was a powerful thing.

* * *

Weeks passed. Spoiler was improving, slowly but surely. With each crime her father committed, Stephanie was out there, ready to tear it down. She began to learn Gotham from another point of view: from the air. And the more she learned, the more she went out - the more she became addicted to crimefighting.

The thrill of running across Gotham in the middle of the night. Anonymous. Freedom to go where she pleased, adrenaline running through her veins. The feeling of her heart pounding in her chest, watching the results of her hard work - it was _addicting._

It wasn't long before she branched out to other things. Now, it wasn't just stopping her dad. It was beating up muggers, helping other people. She began to spread out. Instead of staying within her neighborhood and mapping out routes to her father's crimes, she took the time to explore. She moved further and further from the familiar streets, ending up in parts of Gotham she hadn't seen before. Every morning she was dead tired, but every night she was out there.

No wonder why Batman and Robin were still risking their lives. Vigilantism was a thrill like no other.

But speaking of Batman…

* * *

On one of her runs, Steph found herself a little farther out than she intended to go. She gazed about the rooftops, desperately searching for a familiar landmark. It was one in the morning. She had to head home.

She squinted. That rooftop planter looked familiar…

An abrupt scream shook her out of her thoughts. Steph snapped her head up. Someone was in trouble!

She took a deep breath and sprinted towards the sound with all the speed she could muster. At the last second, she crouched, preparing to jump the gap between this roof and the next.

Before her feet could leave the roof, something hit her ankle. Caught by surprise, Steph lost her balance.

With a wild shriek, Steph plummeted to the ground.

THUMP.

Steph cried out as her butt hit the ground. She hissed in pain as she attempted to recover, her hand reaching out to lean on the wall for support.

A gloved hand reached out and wrapped itself around her wrist.

Panicked and surprised, Steph screamed and pulled back her arm, but the hand didn't let go. Barely breathing, Steph looked up - right into the eyes of the Batman himself.

"What are you doing?" Batman growled, his voice chilling Stephanie right to her bones.

Right now, Steph was caught somewhere between fear and anger. Her heart slammed itself against her ribcage, moving so quickly that she wasn't even sure she had a pulse.

She opened her mouth.

"The same thing you do, ass-hat! Let go of me!"

The grip on her wrist slackened, and Steph yanked her arm back, cradling it protectively in her grasp. She looked up.

Batman's mouth was slightly open. Steph's eyes widened and all the blood drained out of her face. She stumbled backwards and clapped her hands over her mouth.

"I - I meant, um, Mr. Batman. Sir," she squeaked, too terrified to even breathe.

Batman closed his mouth and squared his shoulders. Steph became aware that he was over a foot taller than her, and probably weighed twice as much.

She was _so dead._

"You do what I do?" Batman asked, although it came out more like a demand than a question.

"Yeah," Steph said, regaining a small amount confidence. She wasn't a criminal. She had every right to be out here, fighting crime - just like him. "I'm stopping the bad guys!"

Batman's face remained expressionless. "Go home," he demanded. "I have this covered."

Steph made a face. "Oh, really?"

"You're too young to be out here," he said.

At this, Steph's anger overrode her fear. She rose to her full height - all five feet, exactly - and glared at Batman. "Excuse me?" she asked, her voice as hard as she could make it. "What about your little sidekick, huh? You let _him _fight crime, why can't I?"

That was the wrong thing to say.

Batman's jaw clenched, his whole body tense with anger. Eyes widening, Steph took a step back.

"It's dangerous," Batman gritted out. His voice sounded even colder, if that was possible. "You're not ready."

"Who says - _mmph!_"

In the space of a heartbeat, Steph was pinned against the wall, her arms twisted behind her back. A deep voice sounded at her ear.

"_Go. Home._"

The sudden release made Steph stumble. She steadied herself and turned around.

Batman or not, no one but her mother was allowed to tell her what to do. "No."

Batman's hands twitched, as though he were going to punch her. "Go home, kid. You don't know anything about crime."

Steph sucked in a breath, her face burning from both embarrassment and anger. She didn't know anything about crime? _She_ didn't know anything about crime? Her own dad was a freaking _criminal!_ She grew up in _Gotham!_ Right now, she was terrified to the point of losing her common sense. Her butt was throbbing in pain. She'd stopped a mugging _and _a break in tonight. Batman didn't know _anything_ about her.

Steph stepped forward, raised her hand, and slapped him. Right on the face.

Silence fell across the alley. Steph sucked in a breath. Blood rushed through her ears - the only thing she could hear was her frantic heartbeat and her panicked thoughts.

_Holy shittake mushrooms I think I just slapped the freaking Batman -_

Her muscles tensed as the Caped Crusader twitched his head. His hand drifted up to his reddening cheek, and he stared at her in disbelief.

If she was going to mess that up, might as well go the whole mile, she thought.

"Say that again, old man, _I dare you!_" Steph yelled.

Before she could blink, Batman was gripping her arms again. This time, the grip was tight enough that he could snap her arms like twigs.

"Go home before I do something I regret," he growled. Abruptly, he let go and stormed off, melting into the shadows until Steph was left alone with no idea where he went.

"Well, screw you!" she said aloud to the seemingly empty alley. She wouldn't stop. Batman couldn't tell her what to do.

She turned around and stormed out of the alley. Now that Steph was on the ground, she could recognized the street she was in. Heart pounding, she ran home, scaled the fire escape, and slipped through her unlocked window.

As soon as she was in, Steph closed the window, drew the curtains, and let herself sink down onto the floor. Considering the circumstances, the thirteen-year-old felt justified in letting out a soft, '_holy fucking shit'_.

That just happened. That _happened._ Stephanie, as Spoiler, ran into the freaking _Batman_ and _slapped him in the face._

She shoved her face into her pillow. She'd never been that terrified in her life. Never before had she been so scared.

It felt _awesome._

* * *

Steph stayed home for the next few days, partly to catch up on sleep, but mostly because her butt still hurt from falling in front of Batman. But she was restless. In school, she focused less than usual. Her mind was constantly thinking of crimefighting and Batman. Her brain kept bouncing between disbelieving giddiness (I talked to _Batman!_) and righteous fury (He's not the boss of me!)

Six days later, she couldn't take it anymore. Her butt was still sore and painful, but her wounded pride refused to let her wait. Batman couldn't keep her from doing good. She needed to show him.

That night, she slipped out again, donning her eggplant colored hoodie and the rest of her Spoiler costume. Almost immediately, she ran into a mugging. Heart pumping and a manic grin on her face, Steph ended it almost immediately by jumping down and landing her boot on the criminal's face.

After watching the victim run out of the alley, a deep voice startled Steph out of her triumph.

"I told you to stay home," Batman growled.

Steph whipped her head around. "And I told you you're not my boss!"

"_Stephanie Brown._"

At that, she froze.

"You need to stop this."

"How do you know my name?" She asked, her voice high pitched and more than a little shaky.

Batman didn't answer.

Of course he knows her name. He's the damn _Batman._

"I'm not staying home," Steph said in a low voice. "I'm helping people. I have to!"

With that, she sprinted away, leaving Batman to sigh and clench his jaw.

* * *

"Stephanie, _stop this._"

"It's _Spoiler,_ you jerk!"

"You need to stop."

"You're _not my boss!_"

* * *

"Leave the crime fighting to the professionals."

"I bet the police guys said the same thing when _you_ first started up!"

* * *

"You're not cut out for this, Stephanie. You're not good enough."

"_You're_ not good enough!"

* * *

Steph crouched on a rooftop, contemplating a direction to take. It'd been a few weeks, and she _kinda_ had an idea of where Batman patrolled, but sometimes he popped up in the most random of places. As much as she enjoyed yelling at the man, he was terrifying. She would rather avoid him at all costs.

West, she decided. It was a Friday night; Batman should be in the southern areas of Gotham, if last Friday's run-in was anything to go by.

She prepared to run when a high-pitched scream cut through the night. Steph jerked her head towards the sound. Her heart rate picked up, and her fists twitched in anticipation.

She changed direction, heading towards the scream. Once she knew she was in its general area, she started searching the alleys and streets, but came up with nothing. Was she too late? Did someone already get hurt?

When she concluded that whatever happened was over, she studied the area she was in. It was the industrial area of Gotham, filled with warehouses and empty lots. She frowned. This was close to Batman's area…

She jumped when a large explosion rattled through the area.

A warehouse collapsed, and without a second thought, Stephanie was flying towards the rubble - _is anyone there, are they okay, what just happened_ -

A loud, metallic clang sounded off to her right. She stumbled as she changed direction mid-jump, but she landed on the next roof. There was a large metal planter there, which might have been the source of the clang, and… and…

A bright grin lit up Steph's face. There, in the shadow of the planter, was a neat pile of _batarangs._ She started shoving them into her toolbelt and kept one in her hand as she surveyed the scene before her.

She sucked in a breath as a single figure emerged from the ruins. The figure turned, giving her a good view of the man's face.

_Two-Face._

Stephanie may have been reckless, but even she knew better than to get tangled up with the big villains. Batman was a jerk, but he was good at his job - keeping these guys under control.

Speaking of Batman, where was he…?

The realization hit her like a brick. Horrified, Steph glanced from the weapon in her hand to the former warehouse.

_Oh my God…_

Two-Face was leaving the scene. Impulsively, Steph pulled back her arm and flung the batarang forward. Amazingly, the weapon flew straight and true - lobbing itself into Two-Face's thigh.

The man cried out, his hand flying towards his wound. Roughly, he pulled it out and glared at the batarang.

"Robin?!" He yelled, shocked.

Steph glanced at the rest of the batarangs. They were red, not black. These weren't Batman's… but where was _Robin_? Now that she thought about it, she realized during all of her recent encounters with the Dark Knight, he was alone. The iconic sidekick was no where to be seen - in fact, he hadn't been in the news for a few months now…

_You're too young. It's dangerous. You're not ready._

The pieces flew together. For one reason or another, Robin wasn't here. Robin wasn't here, Batman was in trouble. But _Steph _had a toolbelt and a pile of batarangs. She looked back to Two-Face, who was twisting around and searching the rooftops for a figure in red and green.

Steph smirked. He wasn't looking for _eggplant._

She jumped roofs, making sure her boots made loud clopping noises as she ran across the concrete. Two-Face turned around just as she ducked, hiding from view.

"Come out, you sneaky little bastard!" Two-Face growled. "I got Batman, you certainly don't stand a chance!"

Steph flung another batarang towards the man. It missed, but it did its job - causing a distraction for her to slip down into an alley and hide in the shadows. Her plan was stupid, but if she was fast enough...

When Two-Face's head was turned, Steph broke into a sprint. In one fluid motion, she picked up a stray brick and ran towards the villain. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, and yet - it all was so clear. Steph could see every rock on the ground, every crack. She could feel the evening breeze drift across her hooded face. She could see the muscles twisting in Two-Face's neck as he turned around - only to be greeted with the sight of a brick moving at high velocity.

The brick connected. With a sickening _crack,_ Two-Face dropped to the ground. Steph stood over his fallen body, breathing hard.

_I just knocked out _Two-Face! she thought, staring at the brick in disbelief. _Holy crap!_

And then -

_Batman!_

Spoiler rushed to the rubble and almost immediately spotted the tattered black cape. She ran over. Batman was pinned underneath some crossbeams.

"Batman! Are you alright?" she asked.

"_Stephanie?_"

"It's _Spoiler!_" she reminded him, but she got to work - clearing away the rubble until she could help Batman get to his feet.

"Where's Two-Face?" he asked, his voice as gruff as alway, as if he didn't just almost die in a blown-up warehouse.

"I hit him with a brick," Steph said, gesturing in Two-Face's general direction. But when they got there, the villain was gone.

"Damn it," Steph cursed. Did she not hit him hard enough? A brick to the face was enough to give _anyone_ a concussion.

"I can take it from here," Batman said. "Go home."

Steph blinked. Did she hear that right? Did Batman _seriously _just say that?

"What the hell?!" She shrieked, clenching her fists. "I just saved your life, you _jerk_! And you're telling me to go _home?!_"

"I'm grateful for your assistance," Batman said, his voice sounding not grateful at all. "But you need to go home. Leave this to me."

Steph crossed her arms and glared. "I'm involved whether you like it or not," Steph hissed. "I just saved your life. You're the goddamn Batman, I shouldn't have had to do that in the first place! Clearly, this is a two-person job, because who else is gonna dig you out of the rubble when you get blown up?"

Batman scowled. "I don't need your help."

Steph gestured to his torn up costume. "Obviously, _you do._ I'm going with or without your permission," Steph insisted. "Wouldn't it be better if you could keep an eye on me?"

Batman's jaw clenched. One second. Two seconds. Three.

"Fine," Batman growled. "But you do _exactly _as I say. No questions, no looking for loopholes - _exactly as I say._ _Got it?_"

"Clear as crystal, Boss-man," Steph said. "We taking down Two-Face or what?"

"_Don't_ fall behind."

With that, the Dark Knight took off. Without a second's hesitation, she followed.

Batman was never meant to fight alone.

* * *

**A/N: I'd apologize for the shortness, but we've already heard this story, haven't we?**

**(Can you sense Tim? :D)**

**I got an AO3, link's in my profile!**

**So school is starting up soon, and I'll be really busy with classes and sports. I won't have a lot of time to work on this. I might post somethings here or there, but don't expect too much. Hopefully I'll be able to squeeze in another chapter in the coming months! Wish me luck!**

**-Lazuli Quetzal**


End file.
